


On the Precipice

by Jayel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Death Eater Mentors, Dementors, Harry Potter in Azkaban, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Soul Removal, The Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter) is Terrible, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:29:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayel/pseuds/Jayel
Summary: Under criticism from the public, the ministry wants to show they’re cracking down on crime. So, they send Harry to Azkaban for casting an unforgivable on Bellatrix in their entryway. In a cell surrounded by Death Eaters, dementors stopping by to watch him for far too long, and one guard in particular showing a little too much interest in Harry, Harry’s bound to come out of the situation very changed.Note: The Harry/Draco portion won't be until much later (Harry has to get out of prison first).





	1. The Arrest

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story two years ago. I wasn’t going to post it until I finished the whole thing, but I haven’t been motivated to continue it. Perhaps if there is interest in it, that might spark my muse again.
> 
> Not Beta read.

Harry was on his way out of the great hall when they arrived. Another minute and he probably could have avoided a large spectacle. But a spectacle is exactly what these men wanted. Five ministry employees stood at the doors leading into the great hall. Four were dressed in Auror robes while the fifth was wearing robes that Harry had come to expect to see on an older high-class pureblood wizard.

The aurors had their wands at the ready. They were scanning the great hall and when they spotted Dumbledore, they gave him their full attention. However, the elder wizard with the fancier robes spotted Harry and gave him a rather unsettling grin. The man squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. Harry had a foreboding feeling that he wasn’t going to like why these men have shown up in the middle of dinner.

“Harry Potter! You are under arrest,” the elder wizard stated loudly. The auror immediately to the man’s right, turned his attention to where Harry stood and quickly aimed his wand at the boy.

The great hall grew quiet. Those that had not noticed the ministry employees enter the hall were suddenly notified not only of their presence but also their reason for being there. The students alternated watching the aurors and Harry, who had frozen a few feet from the Gryffindor table.  He stood near Ron and Hermione who had been leaving the hall with him.

Harry blinked a few times, not sure if he had heard correctly.

“What?” he asked blankly. The entire hall was so silent that Harry heard his own heartbeat. It was pounding in his chest.

“You are under arrest for casting the cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange last June,” stated the auror who has his wand trained on Harry. While the man didn’t have the same dramatic flair as the other wizard, his voice was loud and clear as it carried across the hall.

The auror took two steps towards Harry before Dumbledore’s voice rang across the hall causing the auror to pause momentarily.

“Wait Auror Perkins, Mr. Runecraft,” Dumbledore interjected. “You can’t possibly mean to arrest the boy.”

Harry thought that Auror Perkins seemed inclined to agree with Dumbledore but that could be wishful thinking. Mr. Runecraft, on the other hand, was clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“Yes, Albus, I do,” he again puffed out his chest importantly. Under different circumstances Harry might be amused by the man’s peacock impression. As it was, Harry’s stomach was in knots and he was desperately wishing that Professor Dumbledore will be able to get him out of this.

Mr. Runecraft turned towards Harry and asked, “Do you deny casting the unforgivable curse?” His words sounded innocent enough but Harry felt a touch of maliciousness it in.

“Don’t answer that Harry,” Hermione advised. At her words, Mr. Runecraft immediately turned his attention towards her and he smirked unkindly.

“Miss Granger?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed.

“Good, good. This will save us some time searching for you. Auror Bole has some questions for you about your involvement in the ministry break-in last June,” Runecraft stated. The auror on the far left turned his attention on Hermione. He didn’t look as reluctant to be there as Auror Perkins did.

Hermione inhaled sharply causing Harry to instinctively step in front of her protectively despite knowing on some level that she was likely better equipped to handle this situation than he was. He could barely process what was happening.

“Albus, we will also need to question Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ronald Weasley, and Ginevra Weasley about their involvement in the ministry break-in,” Runecraft stated clearly.

At this pronouncement, some of the teachers started voicing their protests. Dumbledore moved around the head table and started making his way towards the ministry employees.

“Auror Bole, Auror Perkins,” Runecraft nodded towards Harry, Hermione and Ron. As both aurors started making their way towards them, Harry glanced at professor Dumbledore for guidance but the man’s attention was on Runecraft.

When Perkins reached Harry, he kindly but forcefully pulled Harry’s hands behind his back. He tapped his wand against Harry’s wrists and Harry felt something constrict against them. A slight tug confirmed that they were confined together. Perkins started patting Harry down. He quickly found Harry’s wand and pocketed it much to Harry’s discomfort.

Perkins stepped back from Harry but kept a hand on Harry’s arm. Harry noticed that Bole had a similar hold on Hermione, though her hands weren’t tied behind her back.

“Ronald Weasley?” Bole asked Ron. At Ron’s confirmation, Bole grabbed his arm as well. The man was large and muscular and could probably subdue both of Harry’s friends if need be. He started guiding them towards the other aurors and Perkins followed suit with Harry.

Dumbledore and Runecraft were heatedly talking. Dumbledore was trying to converse quietly but the student body was so completely focused on the whole scene that his and Runecraft’s voices still carried across the hall.

“The ministry takes these types of crimes seriously. Potter must be held accountable for his actions,” Runecraft stated as Harry was guided towards them.

“The circumstances-” started Dumbledore but Runecraft cut him off.

“His notoriety does not exempt him from the law,” announced Runecraft.

“He’s just a boy!” interjected Madame Pomphrey. Some of the teachers had followed Dumbledore towards the ministry workers. Harry was touched that Pomphrey was sticking up for him as well.

“A boy who cast an unforgivable,” dismissed Runecraft. “The law does not state that the cruciatus curse is an unforgivable curse only for those who’ve reached maturity. Children are not exempted, madam.”

Although Runecraft had already stated why Harry was being arrested, this reminder caused the hall to finally break into whispers. It seemed that the students had gotten over their initial shock and were now ready to gossip. Harry sent an uneasy glance around the hall. When his eyes landed on the Slytherin table, he expected to see smirks sent his way. Instead he saw the same shock expressed by the other houses and perhaps a bit of sympathy. Even Malfoy wasn’t rejoicing in Harry’s ordeal. Then again, Malfoy hadn’t smiled or smirked much in the last few days. Harry figured that whatever task he had from Voldemort was taking its toll on him.

“Surely the boy couldn’t have successfully cast the cruciatus at his age,” tried professor McGonagall, which brought Harry’s attention back to the ministry workers.

“Our records show Mr. Potter cast the cruciatus on one Bellatrix Lestrange. Duration was only for a couple of seconds,” stated one of the other aurors. Like Bole, the man seemed cold and stern. “Likely he realized that it wasn’t smart to cast such a curse on ministry grounds and cancelled it. Too late, I’m afraid.”

Harry wanted to argue that he had not cancelled it but rather that the cruse had not worked for him. He held his tongue though knowing that he’d only be digging his own grave if he spoke right now. But the temptation to speak in his defense was strong so instead he turned away from the ministry workers. That left him once again looking towards the student body. His eyes landed on Malfoy out of habit, having spent the majority of the year so far observing the slytherin and trying to figure out what he was up to. Unlike the rest of the year, it seemed like he finally had Malfoy’s full attention. Too bad Harry couldn’t be happy about it at the moment.

Malfoy looked shocked. Harry didn’t know if it was because Harry was being arrested or because he hadn’t thought Harry would cast any unforgivables. With more than a little bitterness, Harry wondered how many of the slytherins in Malfoys little group had cast unforgivables. None of them were being arrested for it.

“It is also not the boy’s first infraction,” continued the auror. “Just before his second year, there was a levitation charm used at his muggle relatives’ residence. The-“

“That was a house elf!” Harry angrily cut in, finally unable to censor himself. Why were they bringing that up again? Hadn’t they covered it in his trial last year?

“Yes, that incident has been examined already. It should have been struck from his record,” Dumbledore cut in and gave Harry a warning look. Harry knew he should remain quiet and let Dumbledore take care of this. It really was too bad Harry was never good at keeping his anger in check.

“Yes, well… we have not forgotten the incident before the boy’s fifth year,” stated the auror.

“That was dementors,” Harry interrupted despite the warning look he had received. This time his voice wasn’t as angry though he knew his tone clearly expressed that he thought the auror was an idiot. Probably not the best way to go either. “One was about to kiss my cousin. Do you think-“

“That matter has also been dealt with,” stated Dumbledore, cutting Harry off before he could get himself into too much trouble.

“Ah! But it speaks to Potter’s character and his previous delinquent behaviour,” stated Runecraft. Harry bristled at that. How could saving himself and his cousin count as delinquent behaviour? It was Umbridge all over again. Harry wondered if she is the one responsible for sending the ministry after him now.

“I believe we professors are best suited to speak of Mr. Potter’s character,” stated McGonagall.

“Then perhaps you can attend his trial as character witnesses. In the meantime, Potter will be taken into custody. Now, there are five other students we need to question about their involvement in the break in at the ministry,” Runecraft reminded everyone. Bole pushed forward with Ron and Hermione.

“Where is Mr. Longbottom, Miss Lovegood, and Miss Weasley?” Runecraft asked. The professors raised new protests, especially when they noticed how tightly Bole was holding on to Hermione’s arm. Neville had stood up on his own and was making his way towards the aurors. Harry wasn’t sure where Luna and Ginny were. He didn’t have time to look around either as one of the aurors nodded to Perkins and the man started leading Harry out of the great hall.

“Professor-“ Harry tried to catch Dumbledore’s attention, but the auror whose name Harry didn’t know pushed his shoulder and forcibly guided Harry along. They were out of the hall and on the grounds before Harry thought about properly resisting.


	2. Straight to Azkaban

There were two carriages waiting for them outside of Hogwarts. Although they appeared to be the same size as the ones that bring the students from the train to the school every year, these had no thestrals pulling them. In fact, there was no sign of any animal pulling the carriages along. Harry futilely hoped that meant it wouldn’t be able to leave the grounds.

“Watch your head,” advised Perkins. He placed his hand on Harry’s head and he guided him into the closest carriage. The two aurors then joined him in the carriage. As soon as the door closed behind the second auror, the carriage started to move. Harry’s hopes of having one of the professors stop them were completely dashed.

The carriage moved quickly and in a matter of seconds Hogwarts completely disappeared from Harry’s view. Harry felt like he was going to sick-up at any moment, though he doubted it had anything to do with the speed of the carriage. It was as fast as the knight bus but a lot smoother given they were not weaving around muggle cars.  

Perkins sat comfortably beside him, though he was watching the scenery go by rather than Harry. The still-nameless auror was sitting across from Harry and watched him suspiciously. His wand was out and aimed at Harry as if he expected Harry to either attack him or jump out of the carriage at any moment. To be fair, Harry was considering both options but didn’t think the odds would be in his favour.

Seeing the auror’s wand pointed directly at his chest reminded Harry that he didn’t have his wand on him. He had a terrible of vision of Umbridge gleefully breaking it as soon as they arrived at the ministry. Logically he knew they weren’t supposed to break anyone’s wand until the guilty verdict was announced, but given his past experiences with the ministry, Harry didn’t feel overly confident that they would follow protocol and wait.

The carriage ride was tense and silent. Perkins occasionally glanced at Harry but didn’t offer any more support or encouragement. The other auror’s wand didn’t waver from where it was aimed. Even when the carriage finally did stop, Perkins had to prompt the other auror before he lowered his wand to allow them to exit smoothly.

“Bradley, I have him. Would you mind getting the door?” Perkins prompted, causing Bradley to reluctantly lower his wand and exit the carriage.

As soon as Harry got out of the carriage he knew something was wrong. Well, more wrong that it already was.

Instead of arriving at the ministry as he expected, they are standing at the edge of a large body of water. As far as Harry could tell, there was nothing for miles around.

“Where are we?” Harry asked. He wondered if the aurors had taken him to the middle of nowhere to dispose of him. It suddenly occurred to him that he was alone with them and at their mercy. They could tell the world that Harry fought them, maybe even that he escaped so they would have time to hide his body.

“North Sea,” answered Bradley gruffly.

“Shouldn’t we be at the ministry?” asked Harry. The auror’s answer and attitude were doing nothing to alleviate his fears. In fact, Harry’s imagination was growing and leaping at wilder theories. Were these men really death eaters and were using this whole situation as a ruse to get Harry to Voldemort?

“You’ll be going straight to Azkaban,” Bradley told him.

“What?” croaked Harry. They were sending him to Azkanban without a trial?

“It’s only until your trial date can be set up,” Perkins tried to reassure him. It didn’t help. Harry knew all too well that someone could be forgotten in the wizarding prison. After all, Sirius had stayed in Azkaban for over a decade without ever receiving a trial.

“The boat is coming,” announced Bradley. In the distance, Harry could just make out a light. The sun had already set, so not much light covered the sea. A fog rolled around them which cut visibility even more.

Perkins lead him towards a shoddy dock. The wood was uneven and creaked as they stepped on it, but ultimately held their weight. The boat docked and Bradley greeted the men on it with a show of affection that had been absent from the man so far.

“Who’s this then?” asked one of the men as he helped Perkins guide Harry onto the boat. “Bloody hell, how old is he?”

“Harry Potter,” Perkins said, answering the first question. He didn’t answer he second though Harry supposed there wasn’t much need to since they now knew who he is.

“Is he really?” asked a second man on the boat. He was staring at Harry’s forehead. Given the limited light on the boat, he couldn’t make out the scar.

“Even celebrities have to answer for their crimes,” said Bradley.

“What did he do though?” asked the first man. “I wasn’t even aware he was standing trial. Bloody papers sure missed that one-”

“Unforgivable curse,” offered Bradley as an explanation while he interrupted the man.

“He hasn’t received his trial yet,” added Perkins. “He’s to wait here until then.”

“You’re sending him to Azkaban without a trial?” asked the first man. Harry was relieved to note that the man sounded outraged on his behalf. It was nice someone had finally pointed out how unfair this whole thing was.

“John, we’re just following orders,” said Bradley. “Same as you.”

“Whose orders?” asked John.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. John’s question had Harry wondering the same thing. For the first time he realized that neither Kingsley nor Tonks had gone to Hogwarts to arrest him. Did they even know about it? As the silence stretched on, it became clear that no one was going to say who arranged this whole event.

“Perhaps we ought to go before the dementors get antsy,” suggested a third man who had been standing in the back. At the mention of dementors, the others started shifting.

“Of course,” answered John and he started ordering the other men to their stations on the boat. As far as Harry could tell, John was the captain. He used his wand to steer to the boat. The second man’s job was to casts a patronus to ensure the dementors did not attack the ship. Harry still hasn’t learnt the man’s name but his patronus was some sort of bear. The third man, whom the aurors referred to as Burke, seemed to be stationed as a third guard in case prisoners attempted to escape. Harry supposed he could also provided a second patronus if need be, but the man was watching Harry so intently that he probably wouldn’t notice if any dementors got close enough for a kiss.

As they pull away from the shore, the fog grew thicker until Harry could barely make out the men next to him. Bradley tightened his grip on Harry’s arm. Harry briefly entertained notions of kicking the prat and trying to swim to shore but quickly discarded the idea. Even if Harry could undo the magical bindings and lose them in the fog, he was no longer sure which direction to go. With his luck, if he didn’t drown, he’d probably end up swimming to Azkaban… or into a waiting dementor’s arms.

Harry shivered as the temperature dropped the longer the ride went on. He could still make out enough of the auror’s faces to know that Perkins was giving him pitying looks while Bradley was scowling at him. Burke was still watching him intently. Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining the man smirking at him or not.

Eventually an imposing shape started to form in the fog. By the time Harry could clearly make out Azkaban, he thought he would sick up over the side of the boat. He wondered if this was how Sirius had felt when he was first brought here.

The boat jostled as it came upon the dock. This dock didn’t look to be in any better condition than the first one. Perkins helped Harry move off the boat while Bradley once again trained his wand on him. The group then made their way to the fortresses’ rather intimidating doors.

Once inside the building, John and his shipmate broke away from the group and Harry was sorry to see them go. So far, John was the only one to question the ridiculousness of the situation. While Perkins seemed sympathetic enough, it is clear that he was willing to go along with it.

They made their way down a long hallway until they came to a branch. Bright light was coming from the right side and Burke lead the party down that hallway. The light was giving the place a more uplifting feeling, but Harry’s spirits crashed again before he was able to even start to relax. He saw a sign that said “Criminal Processing”. _Criminal_. That was how these men viewed him. Harry was so glad uncle Vernon couldn’t see him at this moment. The man would have had a field day.

They eventually arrived at a room that surprisingly reminded Harry of the muggle police stations he’d seen on the telly. There were no cells in view, but there was a man seated behind a desk. There were a few chairs, though no prisoners were handcuffed to them. Slightly to the right of the man behind the desk were steel bars that Harry figured must led to the cells.

As they approached the man, he lifted a surprised eyebrow but didn’t ask why a teenager was being brought to Azkaban. Even if said teenager was still wearing his school robes. He merely handed Bradley some forms to fill out before moving towards a filing cabinet that also looked surprisingly muggleish to Harry. It seemed like John was the only one here willing to protest this madness… and even then it was only a minor objection. Everyone else seemed alright with locking Harry away.

Perkins greeted the man and called him Anton. They made a few pleasantries, as Anton moved about his desk. If Harry hadn’t dreading being thrown into a cell and forgotten he might of found the small talk comforting and normal.

Anton pulled out a new folder from the filing cabinet. When he placed it on his desk, Harry noted the label was a serial number. He was pained to realize it was about to be his criminal serial number.

Bradley handed the forms back to Anton. There was a slight gasp before the man was glancing at Harry’s forehead, no doubt looking for the scar, but as Harry expected, he did not make any comments about who the newest Azkaban prisoner was or question why this whole thing was happening. By now, Harry was pretty sure no one is going to speak on his behalf.

“Time to pat him down,” said Burke and stepped towards Harry. He ran his hands down Harry’s sides more thoroughly than the auror did when he was arrested. It made Harry feel rather uncomfortable. When he reached Harry’s trousers and felt a bump near the pockets, Burke reached into each pocket and pulled items out.

There wasn’t much in his pockets. A half-eaten box of Bertie Botts, a note he and Ron were passing each other during Charms earlier that day – he rather hoped they hadn’t written anything embarrassing or incriminating - and the beginning of his Charms essay that he decided to scarp and start over. As Burke pulled out the items, Anton marked a note of them on his form and started placing them in a bag.

After his pockets were emptied, Burke once more reached into each pocket. Harry initially assumed he was just being thorough, but as the man groped closer and closer towards his groin, Harry grew more and more uncomfortable. He glanced at the others in the room, wondering if anyone would notice or comment on how long it was taking Burke to search him but none of the other men seemed to think Burke was being inappropriate.

To take his mind off of Burke, Harry glanced at Anton and his meagre bag of possessions. Possessions he was sure he probably won’t want back after this whole ordeal. Harry felt happy that that he’d left his bag in his dorm and both his invisibility cloak and map are safe from the ministry’s hands. Perkins handed over Harry’s wand, and Harry watched as it joined his other items in the bag. Fortunately no one snapped it.

“Clothes next,” stated Anton and Harry flinched as the silence was suddenly broken.

“What?” asked Harry.

“Clothes. You, er, need to change and put on the Azkaban uniform,” instructed Anton. He gestured to a pile of folded up clothes waiting on the desk. Perkins stepped forwards and undid the magical bindings on Harry’s wrists.

“Oh,” Harry reluctantly picked up the bundle and glanced around. “Er, where do I go to uh…?”

“Right here,” stated Burke.

“But…” Harry glanced at Anton for confirmation. The man wasn’t looking at him and looked mildly uncomfortable. Harry turned to Perkins who was frowning. Harry waited a moment and eventually Perkins nodded in confirmation.

With shaking fingers Harry undid his Gryffindor cloak and placed it on Anton’s desk. He was glad that the clothes he was wearing underneath were not his most embarrassing set of Dudley cast offs. The shirt was fairly old so it was pretty faded but Harry liked it because it was one of the few that almost fit him properly. The jeans were atrocious but hardly the worst pair he had. It could be worse and more embarrassing. Harry pulled off his shirt and immediately noticed how much cooler it was. He picked up the Azkaban shirt and quickly slipped it on. It was not comfortable but the material wasn’t itchy or anything. It was pretty thin so Harry still felt cold.

Harry hesitated at the waistband of his jeans. He’d changed around his dorm mates and the quidditch team loads of times but this felt different. Harry glanced at Anton but the man appeared to be busy writing down and packing the articles of clothes Harry had removed so far. Perkins seemed to be staring at Harry’s shoes. Bradley was standing behind him but when Harry glanced at him, he noticed that he was watching Harry and his wand was still trained on him. Burke seemed to be watching him even more intently than Bradley which made Harry rather uncomfortable. Burke waved his wand in a ‘go on’ gesture so Harry removed his trouser and quickly grabbed the Azkaban ones. He was glad there weren’t special Azkaban pants too.

“Shoes too,” announced Burke. Harry toed off his threadbare sneakers and replaced them with the shoes on Anton’s desk. The new shoes resized to fit Harry’s feet but that was the only impressive feature. Similar to the thin prisoner uniform, the shoes seemed to be made of cheap and crappy material. Harry was pretty sure that he’d actually be more comfortable in the worn-out pair he came in with.

Perkins cleared his throat but when Harry glanced at him, the auror was still not looking at him. Harry glanced at Burke. When Burke noticed he had Harry’s attention, he sent him another one of those smirks.

Harry shivered but he was not sure if it was because the Azkanban uniform did nothing to stop the cold, or if it was all because of the looks he kept getting from Burke.

Anton made a few more notes on the form. He then opened a drawer and he pulled out a weird looking camera from his desk.

“If you’ll step over there, by the black curtain,” Anton directed. Harry felt his stomach clench. He normally hated having his picture taken but this one would probably be the worst one yet. He could already see it printed it in tomorrow’s _Daily Prophet_. Harry didn’t need to look at Burke or Bradley to know that if he protested he’d probably still end up taking the picture but would probably also be sporting a black eye.

Harry reluctantly shuffled over to the black curtain. Anton made his way over and handed him a plaque. It contained the serial number that was written on the folder.

“Just hold this up… and look towards me… now look to right…” Anton quickly snapped a couple of photos then took the plaque back.

“Right, now that that’s all done, I’ll just take him to his cell,” announced Burke. He made his way over to Harry and gripped his arm.

“I’ll go with you,” Perkins said. “Bradley, please help finish off the forms.”

Harry was glad that it was Perkins joining them. Even though Perkins had made it obvious that he wasn’t going to stop this from happening, he was marginally better than Bradley. Harry would rather have the almost ally than two men who clearly hated him.

Burke led Harry towards the bars. As they neared them, the bars moved aside allowing them to pass. Harry was pretty sure it was not as easy to leave as it was to enter. As they moved away from Anton’s office, the halls grew dim again. There were torches lining the way at regular intervals, but it was very mild light that guided them. Harry stumbled often and Burke pulled him closer every time.

They eventually came to a fork. Mounted on the wall was a sign that read ‘Block A’ with an arrow pointing towards the left and ‘Block B’ with an arrow pointing towards the right.

“I know just the place for you, Potter,” said Burke. There was such a self-satisfied tone to his voice that Harry thought the man must have known Harry was going to be arrested and brought straight to Azkaban.

“This way,” Burke started leading him down the right hallway. But they stopped about half-way through the hallway at a door marked ‘Block D’. Harry wasn’t sure what happened to Block C but it was clear Burke plans to bypass that entirely.

As Burke opened the door labelled ‘Block D’, Perkins spoke for the first time since entering the prison section. “Surely, Mr. Potter isn’t a high-risk prisoner!” he objected.

“Come now, Perkins. You know we can’t take any risks with such a high-profile prisoner,” Burke said trying to sound reasonable.

“But to put him with such-”

“The other prisoners can’t touch him,” Burke interrupted. Harry could hear impatience in the man’s voice. He looked towards Perkins, hoping the auror had finally decided to call foul on this whole thing. Unfortunately a few seconds of silence make it clear to both Harry and Burke that Perkin’s objections were over.

“Come along,” urged Burke and tugged roughly on Harry’s arm.

“But who are-” Harry started to protest, wondering just what sort of criminals Burke planned to place him with.

“Come on now,” Burke spoke over him. There was clear anger in his voice now and his grip on Harry’s arm was bruising. A sharp tug pulled Harry forward and he stumbled.

“I thought you weren’t going to cause any trouble,” said Burke and roughly pulled Harry back upright. “We don’t take too kindly to troublemakers here, Potter.”

“He’s been cooperative so far, Burke,” interjected Perkins. Unfortunately, kind comments were the only championing he seemed willing to do for Harry.

Having caught on to the fact that once Harry was in his cell, Perkins would leave but Burke would remain, Harry decided to try not getting on Burke’s bad side. He needed to survive this long enough for Dumbledore to get him out of this mess. It would be easier if Burke didn’t hate him. Even better if he could go unnoticed. Perhaps it wouldn’t be any worse than his summers trapped at the Dursleys.

The door led to a staircase going up. Harry followed Burke. They emerged from the staircase and Harry immediately noticed that the temperature was even colder in this area of the prison. At the end of a short hallway was yet another door. A man was sitting in a chair by the door. He looked up as the trio made their way over.

“Fresh meat, huh?” the man commented but he barely spared Harry a glance before he moved towards the door. “You best hurry. The dementors are about to do their rounds.”

Harry shivered at the mention of dementors. He’d somehow forgotten about them and wondered if he was feeling so cold because some of those creatures were close. It was an unpleasant reminder that there were worse things in this place than Burke and his unsettling smirks.

The guard opened the door for them. Burke pulled Harry closer before leading him through the door. It was the first time Harry saw any cells or other prisoners in the place. The cells were built so that the prisoners, rather than just facing one prisoner across from them, were able to see into two adjacent cells on the other side of the corridor.  It seemed like even more an invasion of privacy, but Harry realized that might have been the point of the design.

As they made their way down the corridor, Harry thought Burke was actually walking slower so that Harry could look at each prisoner they passed and they in turn could look at him. Except not all of the prisoners turned towards them. Harry noticed a few vacant stares and wondered if the dementors already sucked out a few souls. A few prisoners do glance his way and Harry noticed most had raised eyebrows and disbelieving looks.

It wasn’t until he recognized one of the prisoners that Harry really started to panic. That man had been part of the department of mysteries fiasco. He had definitely been arrested that night. Harry’s eyes quickly snapped to the man in the next cell. Harry was pretty sure it was another death eater from that night. Across from him was Walden Macnair. Next was Crabbe’s father. Harry wondered if he blamed Harry for his arrest as much as his son did.

Harry glanced at Burke but knew that the man was probably purposely leaving him with death eaters who hated him. The smile Burke gave him as he unlocked the empty cell next to Crabbe pretty much confirmed it. There was a maliciousness in his eyes that made Harry think he’d actually feel safer once the cell was locked and Harry was able to get some distance from the man.

“Sweet dreams,” Burke said in parting as the sound of the door locking echoed down the hall.

Anything Harry would have said in response was quickly forgotten as he spotted something even more threatening once Burke had moved out of the way. In one of the cells across from him, a pair of grey eyes were watching him. Harry wondered if Burke planned this when he picked this cell for Harry or if it was just an unlucky coincidence. Being surrounded by death eater was bad. Terrible even. But being in the cell across from Lucius Malfoy was going to be hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not important to the plot but in case anyone was curious: Blocks A and B are for less sever crimes/sentences while C and D are high security. Block A & C are women’s while B and D are men.
> 
> I hope no one feels Harry is too OOC. I figure he’s quiet here because of shock and fear. Also, he’s not always good about sticking up for himself. If they had arrested some of his friends with him then he might have fought more or tried to escape. I’ll try to bring in sassy Harry later on once he’s grown accustomed to the situation.


	3. Strange Conversations

“Albert? Is Harry Potter really in front of us or have the hallucinations finally started?” asked Lucius Malfoy.

“I see him too,” the man in the cell beside Malfoy answered. He was in the other cell that Harry could see into. The man was older than Malfoy and he looked familiar to Harry. Unfortunately no last names were coming to mind so Harry wasn’t sure how he knew him.

Both wizards watched Harry silently for a few moments. Harry watched them in turn but his focus was mostly on Malfoy. Given their past interactions, Malfoy felt like the bigger threat to Harry. Except now Malfoy had become gaunt since his stay in Azkaban, which made him look less threatening. It some ways it reminded Harry of Draco Malfoy’s slow deterioration as of late. It wasn’t uncommon to see Draco with dark circles under his eyes. Despite not looking as pristine as he was used to, Lucius did seem in better shape than Harry would have expected. Of course, Harry was basing that off of how Sirius had looked and his godfather had spent years in Azkaban.

Harry was trying not to shiver but couldn’t stop it completely. The cell was cold and his prisoner uniform was doing little to fight against the cold. Harry was also pretty sure his shaking was partly due to fear. Harry wanted to break down but refused to do so in front of a bunch of death eaters so he fought the urge to cry and scream. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold out but he hoped he could make it until the others feel asleep.

“What did you do?” Malfoy asked, finally breaking the staring contest.

Harry hesitated, not sure if he really wanted to talk to these men, but he wasn’t sure how long he would be stuck here. It was going to be a long stay if he didn’t talk to anyone.

“They arrested me for the department of mysteries fiasco,” Harry answered. Malfoy raised his eyebrows but fortunately no one laughed. Harry suspected they probably were a little amused that he was now in Azkaban with them for incidents that occurred the same night most of them were arrested.

“Surely, not on suspected death eater charges,” Malfoy prompted.

“Unforgivable curse,” Harry admitted then launched into an account of what had happened. He was careful to avoid mentioning that he actually cast the curse and instead started his story from the moment the aurors had stepped into the great hall. He paced back in forth in his cell as he told his story. When he got to the part where they had arrived at Azkaban and he was told he’d stay here to wait his trial, Harry finally allowed himself to vent his frustrations and called the aurors a number of derogatory names.

When he finished his tale, he paused, standing in the middle of his cell and panting slightly. He watched the only two people he could see clearly. Both Malfoy and the man he called Albert looked noticeably shocked.

“Well,” Albert said, drawing out the word. “Someone really put their foot in it.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“My judicial-wizard was telling me that the ministry was taking a ‘tough on crime’ approach to show that they are not useless. I suppose spending the year denying the return of the dark lord has reflected poorly on them,” responded Albert. Harry noticed he seemed amused. He probably had a hand in encouraging that the ministry turn a blind eye to Voldemort. “However, I don’t think the public will be too keen to see you swept up with all of the other riffraff they have been collecting.”

Harry blinked. He was surprised by the first overt show of support, especially since it was coming from a Death Eater. Someone Harry assumed was a Death Eater anyway.

“The papers spent all of last year calling me a delusional attention-seeker. I’m not sure the public will care what the ministry does to me,” Harry said. He moved towards his mattress and sat down on the bed. He suddenly felt tired after finishing his rant about how he came to be here. The fact that someone was finally pointing out how stupid this whole thing was, was also allowing him to cautiously relax. If one person was able to see how unfair it was, perhaps others would too. Albert’s suggestion that the public would be on his side was raising Harry’s hopes despite the fact that he had just expressed his own doubt.

“Except the papers are now reporting that you were speaking the truth,” responded Albert.

“Whether they believe you or not,” cut in Malfoy, “you’ll still have sympathy merely due to the fact that you are still a child.”

“No I’m not,” Harry said defensively. Both Malfoy and Albert looked amused by his protests.

“A young man,” Malfoy conceded. “My point is that your youth will work in your favor. Throwing someone who hasn’t even finished their education into Azkaban without a trial will backfire on the ministry.”

“So why did they do it?” The question came from the cell next to Harry. If he remembered correctly, the man in that cell was Vincent Crabbe’s father.

“Arresting him was such a bad idea that I can’t even fathom what moron thought it would be a good move,” Malfoy answered shaking his head. “I don’t know how they thought this would work.”

“So, it’s not a Death Eater plot?” Harry asked. There was silence and Harry immediately regretted asking. He wasn’t ruling out the possibility that this was somehow Voldemort’s plan to make him miserable and get him out of the way. But the question also reminded him and the men around him that they were on different sides of this war.

“I wouldn’t know,” Malfoy said eventually and then was silent again for a few minutes as he thought about the situation. “Sending you straight to Azkaban was probably just to make it harder for Dumbledore to rescue you quickly or prevent the whole thing from happening. They probably thought that sending you here would ensure that their plan would work… but since it’s a crap plan, it will not.”

Harry wasn’t completely sure about Malfoy’s assessment. If whoever planned this was smart enough to keep him out of Dumbledore’s reach then surely they were able to plan ways to use that time to get the public on their side.

Everyone grew quiet again, but this time it seemed less tense than before. Harry glanced around his cell as he reflected on what Malfoy had said. The cell was more spacious than Harry had pictured when Sirius spoke about Azkaban. Of course, that hadn’t been too often as the man did not want reminders of his time there. Harry wondered if he was in Sirius’ old cell. Knowing his luck, he was probably in Crouch Jr.’s old cell.

At one of the back corners there was a toilet bowl and sink. The sink had a small bar of soap resting on one side and a toothbrush on the other. Fortunately, the toothbrush was still in a package, so it wasn’t a leftover from whoever has last used this cell. In the center of the back wall was a window. A cold breeze occasionally made its way into the cell. A glance at Malfloy’s cell revealed he had a similar window. If all cells had a window, then that would explain why the entire place was so cold. The window was high up, so Harry couldn’t see much. Harry guessed that he probably could reach the window, but it wouldn’t be easy. This was probably why Sirius had not thought to use it to escape until he became desperate.

The cell had enough space that Harry didn’t feel like the bed was right next to the toilet. He had been able to do a decent pacing session when he told Malfoy and Albert the story of how he got here. The bed wasn’t overly large but was made to fit a grown man. Unfortunately, sheets were about as thin as the uniform and likely wouldn’t do much against the cold. The mattress was too hard. Harry had grown used to Hogwarts’ mattresses for most of the year. However, his bed at the Dursleys was not that much different from the one in the cell. When the Dursleys had reluctantly moved Harry to Dudley’s second bedroom, they had needed to provide him a bed. Rather than buy him a new mattress, they had elected to buy Dudley a new bedroom set and gave Harry his old one, including the worn-out mattress.

“Did you really cast an unforgivable curse?” asked Albert, cutting into Harry’s internal debate on whether the mattress in the cell was better or worse than the one he was stuck using every summer.

Harry didn’t answer the question. Despite their support on how ridiculous this situation was, Harry didn’t trust them not to repeat any confessions he might make. However, his silence might have been answer enough given the raised eyebrows both Albert and Malfoy were sporting.

Harry was trying to think of a response that wouldn’t incriminate him but also let them know he was crap at that particular spell. Surely the fact that it had barely worked should cut him some slack. Before he could think of a way to phrase it, the sound of doors opening at both ends of the hallways were heard. Suddenly the already cold air turned frigid. Both Malfoy and Albert back up in their cells.

“Dementors,” Malfoy explained, not that he needed to. By now, Harry was aware of what dementors felt like. As the sound of his mother’s voice started ringing in his head, Harry tried to huddle on his bed without looking like he was huddling. It seemed unlikely that the other men would notice due to their own proximity to the dementors but he remembered all too clearly the teasing Draco Malfoy and his cronies gave him in third year. Without his wand available to cast a patronus, Harry suddenly felt like he was in third year all over again. Completely helpless against the dementors and his worst memories.

Harry saw the cloak of a dementor at the edge of his cell before he was consumed by the memory of his mother’s death. He was lost in it, reliving her futile pleas to spare him.

Suddenly it stopped. The sudden silence was jarring.

Harry panted into the rough thin sheets, eyes still pressed tightly together. He didn’t want to open them to amused Death Eaters. Taking a few deep breaths, Harry braced himself to be taunted before he sat up and opened his eyes.

Harry had expected Lucius Malfoy’s mocking face to greet him, looking much like his son had in third year. Instead an even nastier surprise was waiting for him.

Standing at the bars of his cell was a dementor. Harry couldn’t see into its hood, but he knew without a doubt that the creature was staring right at him. Harry didn’t understand why his worst memories had stopped replaying in his head if the creature was not only very close but had his full attention trained on him. Harry was suddenly very grateful for the bars separating them.

 _“How are you doing it?”_ A low and gravelly voice asked him. It was accompanied by a rattling sound. Harry shivered but realized that the usual cold he feels in the presence of dementors had also receded. It was still cold, but it was just the general cold of Azkaban. Harry wondered what could be blocking the effects of the dementor before he registered that the men in the cells around him were moaning in misery. Harry hadn’t noticed until his own laboured breathing had calmed. Although Harry could no longer feel the effects of the dementors, it seemed like everyone else in the vicinity still could.

“ _I can see it. You’re brighter than the rest. Tell me human, how have you managed this?_ ” the voice questioned after a few moments of Harry sitting and staring dumbly at the dementor.

“I don’t understand… manage doing what exactly?” said Harry, his voice almost sounded as gravelly as the dementor’s.

At his response, Harry noticed movement behind the dementor. He glanced into Malfoy’s cell. A white peacock was watching him. Harry glanced towards Albert’s cell, but it looked empty. He thought he saw something shift under the cot and assumed the man was an animagus as well.

“ _You can tell me,_ ” urged the voice, and brought Harry’s attention back towards the dementor.

“Er, tell you what exactly? I don’t know how I stopped the effects you have-” croaked Harry. He assumed the dementor wanted to know why Harry suddenly stopped being affected. Harry glanced down at his body in case he spontaneously shifted into an animal. He was still human, though his ability to talk should have been indication enough.

“ _No, no_ ,” interrupted the dementor. It moved closer to the bars. For a second, Harry worried the creature would be able to squeeze through. Harry was relieved when it became apparent that it could not move any closer. “ _It’s incomplete but you’re just holding it… Useless… but intriguing…_ ”

Harry was completely lost. He wasn’t holding anything. He watched the dementor helplessly. A particularly pitiful groan from one of the cells eventually broke Harry from his staring contest with the dementor.

“I really don’t know what you mean…” Harry whispered. The creature gave some inhuman grunt before turning away. Harry watched as it made its way slowly down the hall until he couldn’t watch it any more. The terrible feelings and memories did not return.

A few moments later, Harry heard the sound of a door opening and closing. The pitiful moans from the other inmates eventually tapered off. Despite believing that the dementor was gone, at least for the moment, Harry could not stop staring at the spot he last saw the creature. Harry did not move from his spot on his bed for a long while.

“What was that?” a low voice asked. Harry turned his attention back towards Malfoy’s cell. The man was no longer in peacock form.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. He really had no idea what the dementor was talking about. He hadn’t even known that the creatures could talk. They’d always been particularly interested in him, but they had never bothered to stop and talk before. Harry considered that it might be the most terrifying thing about this place yet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve mapped who is in the cells around Harry (see image at the end of this chapter). I might move them around if the story needs someone in a cell closer to Harry but for now this is what I’m picturing. If you’re wondering why some of them didn’t talk, I assume it’s because they were sleeping or something. They’ll have a presence later on.
> 
> As far as I know, Theodore Nott’s father was never given a first name. I’ve named him Albert but if anyone knows if he has a canon first name please let me know.
> 
> judicial-wizard: lawyer. I figure if they use the term medi-witch/wizard for nurses then they might have a different name for lawyers as well.


	4. Meeting the Neighbours

Harry had a hard time falling asleep that night. He alternated between hoping that Dumbledore would suddenly appear to release him, and dreading that the suddenly talkative dementor would come back. Neither happened and Harry eventually succumbed to sleep.

He was awoken by a banging noise, followed by a loud voice. “Get up Jugson or I’ll take it to mean you don’t want your brekkie.”

More banging noises rang out as the prisoners slowly sat to await for breakfast. Harry recognized the sound of a food tray being pushed across the floor from his time with the Dursleys. Sure enough, eventually two guards entered Harry’s field of vision and slid a food tray into Albert’s cell.

“Rise and shine, Nott. Rise. And. Shine,” one of the guards mocked. Harry’s eyes widened as he realized that Albert was Albert Nott. Harry assumed he was Theodore Nott’s father or perhaps an uncle.

The two guards turned towards Harry next. Their mocking smiles stilled and Harry thought they looked a little uncertain. Harry didn’t recognize either of them from when he arrived.

“Here, Potter,” one of them said before sliding a food tray into Harry’s cell. Harry got up and made his way towards it. He nodded vaguely at them in thanks. They moved to give Malfoy his food, but each of them kept shooting glances back towards Harry. Self-consciously, he moved back to his cot and started picking at the food.

Harry easily recognized bread and the hardboiled egg, but there was a slab of something Harry assumed was some sort of meat but he couldn’t tell which kind. Harry was just experimentally poking at a few sketchy items mixed in the portion of beans, when the guards started making noise again.

“Get up, Lestrange, or I’ll take it to mean you’re not hungry,” said one of the guards. Harry’s eyes widened as he realized the guard was speaking to the man in the other cell next to Harry. He didn’t know which brother was there, but either one was bad. _Shit_ , Harry thought, _I really am surrounded_.

It only got worse the more the guards travelled down the hall. They didn’t name every prisoner, but Harry definitely recognized a few Death Eater names. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entire department of mysteries arrestees were all in the same block.

“I wouldn’t look too closely,” advised Malfoy as he gestured to Harry’s food tray.

“What is it?” Harry asked, once again poking at the mystery meat and trying to ignore the fact that he’d likely be murdered if any of his fellow prisoners got out of their cells.

“No idea,” answered Malfoy. “Fortunately it tastes as bland as it smells.”

“I wouldn’t call that fortunate,” muttered Crabbe.

“Better some mystery bland thing than a mysterious pungent meal” responded Malfoy. Harry watched Malfoy scoop up some of the beans and eat it. Harry cautiously did the same. He figured if the aristocratic Malfoy could eat it, it was something Harry could manage.

Harry agreed with Malfoy’s assessment of the food being bland. The texture of the mystery meat bothered Harry just as much as its look did. However, Harry once again compared it to staying with the Dursleys. He was at least getting a full meal and he didn’t have to do the cooking.

“Meals seem to be about the only creature comfort they consistently provide,” Malfoy stated. He placed his now empty food tray in the slot where it had entered and then tapped the bar directly above it. It vanished.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. He brought his own empty tray to the slot in his cell. Glancing at Malfoy for confirmation, Harry then tapped the bar and watched his tray disappear.

“You’ll get three meals a day-” Lucius started to explain.

“Only because they’re shit and it’s just another way to torture us,” Crabbe interjected. Despite his complaints, Harry could hear him scrapping this plate for every last bit of the meal.

“I think they hope we won’t eat and end up starving to death,” Nott added. He was poking at the last bits of his food and seemed to be contemplating doing just that.

“Regardless of their motivation, they will provide food. But all other creature comforts are hit and miss,” Lucius stated.

“Except toilet paper,” added a nearby voice. “They won’t fight you on that. No one wants to be cleaning that shit up.”

The voice started laughing at his own joke but it sent an uneasy feeling twisting in Harry’s abdomen. He was already postponing the piss he had to take due to feeling a little awkward. But that would be manageable. His back would be to Malfoy and Nott and it probably won’t be any different to using a public urinal. But what was he supposed to do when he had to shit? There was no way to avoid doing so in full view of two men. Harry considered that perhaps he should start skipping meals and cut down on how often that embarrassment had to happen…

“We’re not allowed to shower often,” Lucius stated, trying to get back to the point he was making.

“How often is ‘not often’?” Harry wondered.

“About every two to three days if we’re lucky,” grumbled Malfoy.

“Three days?!” Harry exclaimed. Even the Dursleys hadn’t made him wait that long.

“Sometimes four if they’re feeling particularly vindictive,” added Nott.

“Up to a week if you’ve really pissed them off,” explained Malfoy. Harry made a disgusted face but Malfoy seemed pleased that Harry shared his outrage.

“You’ll find that many of the guards like to play mind games. They eagerly exercise whatever small amount of power they have,” Malfoy explained.

“That can’t be legal,” Harry stated slowly. He was beginning to wonder if the death eaters were just trying to mess with him in any way that they could.

“There aren’t many guards to tattle. Plus, they’re careful not to push _too_ far. We’re cleaned up before our judicial-wizards or any high-up ministry workers see us. So, it isn’t obvious to anyone not in the building. Though I doubt the public outcry would be too loud in defense of prisoners anyway,” Lucius said.

“Don’t worry; we’re bound for a shower soon,” Nott added after a moment. He had probably meant it to be encouraging but Harry suddenly realized it would bring a whole new set of problems. It was embarrassing contemplating taking care of his bowel movements in front of two death eaters. He didn’t know how he would deal with being naked surrounded by a dozen of them. He could picture Dudley snidely telling him not to drop the soap.

“Who are you talking to?” a voice suddenly asked. It was coming from the cell next to him. Lestrange.

“Potter,” Malfoy answered.

“As in _Harry_ Potter?” asked another voice down the hall. Murmuring broke out in various cells as word spread down the hallway. Harry figured when he arrived last night, many of them must have been asleep and were only noticing now that they had a new prisoner amongst them.

“Yes, that Potter,” drawled Malfoy. Harry thought he was enjoying himself. Someone a few cells down let out a loud laugh. The murmuring got louder and Harry’s defenses, which had been shaky since his arrest, were suddenly up and he was annoyed.

“What did you do?” asked the Lestrange brother in the cell next to him.

“Your wife,” Harry snapped. It was a juvenile response but it did make Harry feel better.

“I thought you said it was an unforgivable curse,” Malfoy drawled, still amused. Harry was thrown by how much Lucius reminded him of Draco in that moment.

“Yeah, well…” Harry stalled. He still thought it was best not to come out and admit to anything.

“Wait… are you saying- did you use an unforgiveable on my wife?” the man asked letting Harry know that the Lestrange next to him was in fact the one married to Bellatrix. As far as Harry knew, the other Lestrange brother wasn’t married. Harry didn’t answer him and refused to look at either Malfoy or Nott in case his guilt was plainly written on his face. His silence was probably just as damning.

“Which one?” pressed Lestrange but Harry still held his tongue.

“Aww, is wittle baby Potter gowing up?” mocked Lestrange. His baby-talk sounded a lot like Bellatrix had that night. “Thowing curses like a big bah-oy…”

“Shut up!” snapped Harry.

“Rodolphus…”Lucius said and his voice held a hint of warning but the man ignored him.

“Potter twinks he can fwight de big scawry death eaters? Twinks he can-”

“Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything! Your bitch of a wife deserved worse!” Harry panted.

“So, you actually did it?” Lestrange voice lost its baby-talk teasing but still sounded deadly. “Which one was it?” he waited but only Harry’s angry panting answered him so he continued “Thought that you could curse a death eater and no one would care? Thought your status would save you, hmmm? Well, they know you’re not the shiny boy-hero now, don’t they? No, you go around cursing innocent-“

“Innocent?” Harry hissed incredulously. “She killed Sirius!”

“What?” Lestrange asked. His tirade lost its steam at Harry’s angry admission.

“Your bat-shit crazy wife killed my godfather,” Harry answered.

“Are you sure?” the man asked.

“Of course I’m sure!” Harry hissed and wondered what the man was trying to accomplish. “She did it in front of me! Weren’t you there?”

Harry looked towards Malfoy and Nott. It was insane to count on them for support but Harry didn’t know what Lestrange was trying to accomplish.

“Perhaps you better explain what happened exactly,” Malfoy answered calmly. Harry looked between him and Nott but both were wearing serious expressions and seemed to want an explanation.

“You were all there…” Harry started.

“We were… preoccupied,” answered Nott.

“Fine!” Harry hissed angrily, believing that they were trying to trick him though he couldn’t figure out how or the purpose. “Sirius and Bellatrix were dueling. I don’t know what curse she used, but Sirius- he… he froze and just fell through the veil…”

Harry trailed off. He knew if he said too much, he might start crying. He thought he had put Sirius’ death behind him, at least enough that he wouldn’t cry over it, but there was something about being in Azkaban that was tearing down his defenses.

“So, she didn’t mean to kill him,” proposed Lestrange.

“She wasn’t exactly sorry either!” Harry retorted, glad that his anger was pushing down his despair. “She ran out of the ministry bloody _singing_ about how happy she was that she killed him!”

“Oh, well… She… That is…” Harry was surprised that Lestrange actually seemed at a loss. Neither Malfoy nor Nott seemed to be gloating either.

“Well,” Lestrange dragged out the word as he groped for a way to justify his wife’s actions. “Black was a blood traitor-”

“ _Blood traitor_?” Harry hissed. “Bellatrix is the one killing off her family members. If anyone is a blood traitor, it is her.”

There was silence at Harry’s bold accusation. For a few minutes, he could only hear his own angry panting but it allowed him to calm down when no one immediately jumped to defend her.

“Well, good on you, Potter,” an unknown voice announced. It sounded like it was coming from the cell next to Malfoy.

“What?” Harry asked surprised.

“Good on you for avenging your godfather,” as the voice continued. “Pretty ballsy of you to kill her on ministry grounds, but-”

“I didn’t kill her,” Harry interrupted.

“Oh, well that’s disappointing,” continued the voice. Ignoring the ‘shut up’ that was hissed from Lestrange’s cell, the voice continued. “Crucio then?”

Harry was silent and only Malfoy and Nott were able to see him shift in a guilty manner.

“Come now,” the voice prodded. “ _We_ certainly won’t judge you harshly. It’s admirable that you went to defend your godfather’s honour. It’s actually impressive that one so young managed the cruciatus curse. You don-”

“Allegedly,” Harry interrupted though his voice came out weak. Was this their plan? To push at him until he admitted that he had cast the curse? Merlin, he was an idiot. He had walked straight into that one.

“Pardon?”

“I allegedly cast the cruciatus curse on Lestrange,” Harry repeated. His voice a bit stronger that time.

Malfoy and Nott laughed at that.

“Potter, if you cast an unforgivable on ministry grounds then it’s safe to assume they have irrefutable proof,” Malfoy explained.

“Oh,” Harry answered. If they could prove it, then Harry wasn’t sure how he was ever getting out of the prison.

“Right, well we all understand why you would _allegedly_ cast the curse,” the voice continued. He also sounded amused.

“Mulciber is right-” Nott started to add before he was cut off.

“ _We_ don’t all understand it,” Lestrange cut in. “You can’t just go throwing unforgivables at people’s wives.”

“That’s rich coming from _you_ ,” Harry retorted.

“He’s got you there,” Malfoy said with some amusement.

“Well, it’s not like he can condone Potter torturing his wife,” a new voice cut in. Harry was pretty sure it was the other Lestrange brother. “Considering she’s your sister-in-law, you probably shouldn’t be encouraging the boy either.”

Harry wondered why Malfoy didn’t seem upset at the news.

“Perhaps not condone it but I can understand it,” Malfoy answered. “Don’t pretend that you would have done differently. Either of you.”

“You didn’t hurt her too much, did you?” Lestrange asked. Harry wanted to retort that she deserved so much more than what she got but realized that Lestrange was concerned about his wife. It was odd to realize even death eaters had feelings and cared about their families. Harry was fighting against feeling any pity for the man. Neither he nor his wife were innocent victims.

“It didn’t really work,” Harry admitted. He knew it was something he should be proud of but he honestly felt disappointed that he hadn’t been able to hold it on her longer.

“Wait – did you or did you not cast the cruciatus curse?” asked the voice Harry now knew to be Mulciber.

“I cast it but it only worked for a second,” Harry admitted and hoped that this conversation wasn’t their plan to get him to admit it out loud.

“Why did you select that curse if you had not yet mastered it?” asked Nott. He seemed surprised by Harry’s blank look. “Was that the first time you ever tried that curse?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Harry answered.

“And it worked?”

“Only for a second,” Harry repeated. Glancing between Nott and Malfoy, Harry could tell that they both seemed surprised.

“Bloody hell. He’s a natural,” Mulciber laughed breaking the sudden silence. “You know, under different circumstances, Rodolphus, you might have just had a new apprentice on your hands.”

“I’m not a natural,” Harry protested, disturbed by the thought.

“Actually, if you’re being honest about it-” started Nott.

“I am!” defended Harry.

“Then it actually is pretty remarkable. Very few people can get a reaction - no matter how short-lived - on their first try.”

“I was angry at the time. Maybe that’s why it worked?” Harry proposed. He didn’t want to think about being a natural at such a dark curse.

“It probably hindered you more than helped,” suggested Malfoy. “Anger can provide the desire for the curse to work, but likely made you lose focus.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “That makes more sense than what Bellatrix said… she said I’d have to mean it.”

“You do,” confirmed Lestrange.

“But I did mean it at the time. I really wanted to hurt her for killing Sirius,” Harry admitted. “It was actually frustrating that it didn’t work.”

“You’d probably be more successful if you were to try it again,” Nott proposed. Harry snorted in reply.

“Right, because that worked out so well for me this time,” Harry said and gestured around him.

“So long as you don’t keep doing so in public places – ministry property, no less, you should be able to practice with relative ease,” stated Nott. Harry gave him an incredulous look.

“Just don’t practice on my wife,” said Lestrange as if Harry was going to take Nott’s advice.

“I can’t think of anyone who would deserve it more,” Harry answered.

“Deserved or not, she would fight back,” warned Lestrange. Harry realized that the man was genuinely trying to warn Harry off. Harry wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or horrified that that the man thought he was going to go out and start using dark curses.

“This is crazy! I’m not going to go around practicing unforgivables,” Harry said. “If I have to mean it for the curse to work, then I would need to want to hurt the person I’m casting it on. Aside from Bellatrix, I don’t really want to hurt anyone like that.”

“No one?” asked Malfoy. He pointedly raised his eyebrows. Harry immediately thought of Umbridge. When he pushed the thought of her away, it was thoughts of getting revenge on Snape that took its place. Almost immediately afterwards thoughts of cursing Voldemort, Wormtail and the Dursleys all popped into his head. Perhaps there were a few people he might want to hurt…

“Maybe… doesn’t mean I’m going to risk coming back here… if I ever get out that is,” Harry answered.

“There are other curses you could use. Doesn’t have to be an unforgivable,” suggested Lestrange. A moment later he seemed to realize what he has suggested so he hastily added, “though my wife would know the counter curses, so it would be unwise to use them against her.”

Mulciber started laughing. “Well damn, Rodolphus! Are you actually thinking of taking him on as an apprentice?”

It was surreal for Harry that shortly after the men in the cells closest to him started suggesting various hexes and curses that one could use against enemies. They seemed amused and tried to one up each other with their suggestions.

“There’s the toenail curling hex,” suggested Malfoy.

“What does that do?” asked Harry.

“It slowly peels up the toenails and then rolls them up. Before the nails can detach, they uncurl and reset properly in the foot. After a minute the process starts again,” explained Malfoy. Harry had unconsciously shifted and protectively placed his feet under his bum.

“Remind me again what the incantation for that is?” asked Nott. Both Nott and Malfoy had been watching Harry closely. Every time Harry showed a particular interest in (or revulsion to) the suggested curse or hex, one man would prompt the other for the incantation. The other man would provide it and follow up with demonstration of the correct wand movement.

“And I believe that this is the wand movement,” Malfoy stated, just as Harry predicted. He watched Malfoy twist his wrist about in an exaggerated flourish. “A little twirl motion at the end there,” Malfoy stated. When he saw Harry following his wrist movement, he repeated the demonstration.

Harry slowly copied the motions. He told himself he was just humouring them and we wouldn’t actually use something like the toenail curling hex on anyone. But he repeated the motions until both Malfoy and Nott hummed in approval.

“I believe you can manage throwing a toenail curling hex at someone,” announced Nott.

“ _Allegedly,_ ” added Malfoy. He had been teasing Harry with that all morning. The teasing coming from him especially, was so reminiscent of Draco that Harry felt at once comforted and homesick.

A few more curses and hexes were suggested. Usually the men around him would laugh at each suggestion though occasionally someone would groan and admit to having been a victim of a particular spell and would complain. Despite being one of the most unbelievable conversations he had ever been privy too, Harry was enjoying himself. Harry was pretty sure Azkaban wasn’t normally filled with this much good-natured laughing, but he assumed that was exactly why the competition to think of the most outrageous hex kept going for a couple of hours. Harry was pretty sure every man in the hallway was desperately trying to think of another suggestion if only to keep the harsher thoughts at bay.

“Oh! I got one,” interrupted Crabbe. “What about the belly burning curse? It-”

“Making friends, I see,” interrupted a new voice. Burke, the guard that had escorted Harry into the cell strode into view. Harry hadn’t heard him opening the door at the end of the hallway and was surprised to see him.

“What is everyone so excited about?” Burke asked but all of the men around him had gone quite. “Come now, the boys were just telling me that they haven’t ever heard you lot quite so rowdy. I just had to come see for myself what got you all excited.”

“We were just making suggestions of spells Potter could have used instead of an unforgivable,” answered Nott in a hard voice.

“It seems Potter is woefully unaware of some of the nastier spells in existence,” added Malfoy.

The tone of voice the two of them used made it seem as if they had been threatening Harry with the curses for the past hour instead of teaching him a few. If Harry hadn’t already been warry of Burke, the smirk he gave at Malfoy’s answer would have done the trick.

“Is that so? Well, it’s a pity he won’t get the chance to ever learn them,” said Burke nastily. “Potter won’t be leaving any time soon.”

“Dumbledore will get me out,” Harry said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“You think so, don’t you?” laughed Burke. “He won’t be able to get you out any time soon. No, you’re all ours for the time being.”

Burke paused but Harry kept quiet. He didn’t know how to respond and he hoped that if he ignored Burke, the man would move on. Unfortunately Burke was not willing to let it go.

“What, no brave comeback?” prompted Burke. When Harry didn’t respond, he tried a different tactic. “Did you sleep well?”

Again, Harry was quiet. He could see Burke getting frustrated and hoped that the man would grow tired and just leave.

“Well, if you don’t like my company Potter, I could just leave you with your new friends,” Burke tried. Harry didn’t respond though he desperately wanted to yell at the man to leave. “Of course, it must be frustrating to have to project your voice so everyone could hear you, hmmm? Perhaps you’d like some more personal visiting time? If you’re nice, I could let one of your new friends join you in your cell for an hour or two. Hmmm?”

Harry glanced in Malfoy’s direction. So far he had not seemed malicious towards Harry. None of the men had though Harry wasn’t confident that would remain the case if they had access to him and a guard’s approval to do what they liked.

“I’m sure everyone’s more comfortable in their own space,” Harry responded and sneered at Burke’s triumphant smirk.

“And how are you liking your own space? I hope you’re finding the accommodations to your liking,” Burke asked.

“It’s a bit cold,” Harry said drily. He wondered how long he would have to put with Burke.

“That can’t be helped I’m afraid. Have the dementors passed by yet? I’ll be sure to tell them to say a special hello to you,” Burke continued. Harry didn’t think the man actually knew the special attention the dementors had already paid him.

“Be sure to give them a kiss for me while you’re at it, won’t you?” Harry responded. Malfoy made a choking sound he attempted to cover with a cough. Nott was smirking and did nothing to hide it.

“You want a kiss, hmm?” Burke angrily asked. Harry was sure he was annoyed that Harry didn’t appear as rattled as he wanted. It probably didn’t help that Harry’s enemies were laughing with Harry at Burke’s expense rather than vice versa. “I could arrange to leave the door open, so you can greet the dementors properly yourself.”

When Harry didn’t respond, Burke smirked in triumph.

“Wouldn’t that be a shame? I can see it now. The headlines reporting the tragic tale of Potter getting kissed in an escape attempt. And just when Dumbledore was about to rescue him too. Such a shame it would be,” Burke mocked and leaned against Harry’s bars. Harry wanted to call Burke’s bluff but the truth was he didn’t know if the man was bluffing or not. So far, Harry hadn’t seen anything in Burke’s character that would suggested he wouldn’t let a dementor kiss one of the prisoners.

“What would your friends say about such a tragedy? Or perhaps they’ve already written you off. I wouldn’t want to associate with criminal elements,” taunted Burke.

“Then you’ve picked the wrong career, haven’t you?” pointed out Harry. Malfoy made another choking/snorting noise and Burke narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, that’s right, they are delinquents just like you. They’ll probably be joining you here soon enough. I know the aurors were questioning them,” stated Burke. Harry tried not to let his worry show. Harry could overlook Burke’s taunts about being labelled a delinquent. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened. But Harry didn’t know what happened to his friends and he was worried about them just as much as he was worried about what was happening to him. It sounded like they were still safe at Hogwarts for now.

“It’s not an unforgivable curse, but the ministry will want to make an example of them. They take break-ins very seriously,” continued Burke.

“Then they shouldn’t leave the door wide open, hmmm?” Harry asked, mimicking Burke’s own speech pattern. “We didn’t break in so much as walk in. If the ministry is so concerned about us being there they probably shouldn’t have _let_ a bunch of teenagers mosey on in.”

“You’re not as clever as you think, Potter,” Burke responded angrily. “Doesn’t matter which way you twist it, we’ve got _you_ here. You better get comfortable because you won’t be leaving. So, I really do hope you like the cell, the cold, and the company. You’ll grow to like these bars soon, Potter,” Burke announced as if nothing would please him more. “After all, it’ll keep you nice and safe from the dementors and the other riffraff around here.”

“Then why hasn’t it stopped you from blathering on at me?” Harry asked. He knew he shouldn’t push the man that was threatening to set him up to be kissed by the dementors, but the man just pushed all the wrong buttons. And Harry never was any good at keeping his mouth shut.

“Listen here you little-“ Burke started to angrily respond but cut himself off and glanced nervously towards the end of the hall. A moment later Harry noticed that it was getting colder which likely signaled that a dementor was on its way.

“This isn’t over,” hissed Burke. He turned in the opposite direction and left abruptly.

“Well, you’ve got some set of balls on you, that’s for sure,” commented Malfoy.

“Yeah,” Harry responded though he sounded resigned. “I just know that’s going to come back to bite me somehow.”

Considering Burke left without unlocking Harry’s cell for the dementor, Harry was pretty sure that the threat to have him kissed was just a scare tactic. However, Harry had seen enough of Burke’s personality to believe that the man would probably try to assert his dominance again somehow.

It looked like Malfoy wanted to say something more but instead he shivered and glanced in the direction the dementor was coming from. Without comment he turned into his peacock form and backed up in his cell. A glance in Nott’s direction revealed that he was in his animagus form as well.

Harry tried to brace himself but he wasn’t sure if he should expect his worse memories to play out or if he would have another disturbing conversation with a dementor.


	5. Marked

The hallway was soon filled with pitiful moans. Harry thought the other prisoners sounded even more pained than they had the previous evening, though Harry himself remained unaffected. Even Malfoy and Nott in their animal forms were huddled in the back of their cells. Harry finally got a good look at Nott’s animagus form and it was a porcupine.

Harry was uncomfortable and cold, but he wasn’t his usual pitiful mess around the dementors. He assumed that meant the dementor wanted to talk to him again.

He was partly right.

This time, instead of a solitary figure gliding past the cells, there were three of them. Harry could not tell one from the other, so he didn’t know which, if any, had been the one from last night. All three had stopped at his cell door and turned towards him.

For several long moments, Harry’s laboured breathing mingled with the rattling noises they were making. Moans were issued from the other cells, but they faded to the background as Harry focused on his three visitors.

“ _It’s remained the same_ ,” one of the dementors stated.

“ _You’re certain?_ ” asked another. Much like their looks, their voices sounded alike. However, there was a minute difference that informed Harry that different creatures were speaking.

“ _Interesting_ ,” one of the creatures murmured which terrified Harry. It couldn’t be a good thing that they found him interesting even if it sparred him the horrible memories.

“What’s interesting?” ventured Harry. He figured as terrible as the notion was, he already had their attention. He reckoned he had nothing to lose by trying to get them to answer his questions.

The dementors made a particularly loud rattling sound. Harry was struck with a fear that they would attempt to suck his soul out despite the distance between them and wished he’d learn to keep his mouth shut. However, two of the dementors turned their attention to the third.

“ _I have connected with him,_ ” the dementor admitted. “ _I attempted to ascertain how this was possible._ ”

“ _And?_ ” asked one of the dementors.

“ _He claims not to know,_ ” was the response.

The dementors turned their attention back to Harry. “ _How are you holding on to it?_ ” one of them asked.

“I don’t know you mean,” Harry stated. Despite the déjà vu feeling, he was completely lost as to what they meant.

“ _Do you believe him?_ ” one dementor questioned the others.

“ _I don’t know…_ ” was the response. The three dementors moved minimally closer to Harry’s cell.

“Honest,” Harry squeaked out. “If you’d just tell me exactly what you’re talking about, I might be able to answer you.”

The dementors glanced at each other for a long moment. As they seemed to silently debate something between themselves, the moans of the other prisoners echoed down the hallway. Harry couldn’t stop himself from shivering. Eventually they turned their attention back to him.

“ _We must discuss this amongst the clan. We will likely have more questions for you,_ ” one of the dementors announced. This was hardly reassuring as thus far their questions had been confusing.

All three of the dementors then turned away from Harry and continued down the hall. The sound of a door opening indicated that they were leaving but it took a while for the mood to get lighter and truly indicate that they were gone. Despite not feeling the full effects of the dementors’ presence, Harry desperately wanted chocolate. He doubted it would be provided when lunch showed up.

With the benefit of being animagi, both Malfoy and Nott seemed to recover quickly. Crabbe was still moaning pitifully in the cell next to Harry, so Harry assumed the man was not an animagus. He didn’t hear anything from Lestrange’s cell. Harry suddenly wondered how many of the death eaters were animagi and may have been privy to Harry’s terrifying encounter with the dementors.

Both Malfoy and Nott were regarding Harry curiously. Harry could tell that Malfoy wanted to ask what the deal with the dementor was.

“I don’t know what they are talking about,” Harry said. Malfoy looked at him carefully. He must have believed Harry because he eventually nodded.

“What did they say?” he asked.

“You didn’t –” Harry started to ask. When Malfoy nodded his head in a negative fashion, Harry turned to Nott for confirmation. He too shook his head.

“I’ve never seen anyone aside from the dark lord withstand the dementors let alone talk to them,” Nott stated.

“Yeah, well, that wasn’t me. I mean, I wasn’t controlling it. I’m usually treated to my worst memories,” Harry said. He realized he probably shouldn’t be so candid with death eaters, but the entire situation was freaking him out. What could the dementors possibly want with him? “It was one of the dementors that stopped it. He stated he _connected_ with me. Whatever that even means!”

“Well… I suppose it’s better than the alternative,” suggested Nott.

“Is it?” countered Harry somewhat hysterically. While he didn’t want his worst memories replaying on repeat, it didn’t seem like a good thing to have the dementors’ curiosity focused on him either.

“I guess that depends on what they want from you,” Nott acknowledged.

“I don’t know!” Harry stated frustrated. “They’re being all vague. They want to know how I did something but won’t tell me what that something is. I wasn’t aware the dementors could talk.”

“Well, it was clear that they understood English as they’ve listened to orders from the ministry for years, but I admit, I hadn’t heard of anyone conversing with them before,” stated Malfoy.

“Great,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “I get to be special. Again.”

Neither Nott nor Malfoy responded to that though Harry could feel their eyes watching him. The moans from the other cells had tapered off. Occasionally Harry heard some grunts from the other cells but people seemed to be recovering. However the comparatively cheerful banter from that morning did not return. Some low murmured complaints floated down the hall but most of the prisoners were quiet.

“I don’t know what’s worst; the dementors or the guards,” said Nott.

“Dementors,” came Crabbe’s voice. “Definitely dementors.”

“I don’t know. The dementors don’t usually linger,” countered Malfoy.

“No, the dementors are definitely the worst,” another voice responded. “At least for anyone who isn’t an animagus. I’d take a beating any day over reliving _those_ memories.”

“Beating?” questioned Harry. “Does that happen often?”

The grim looks on Malfoy and Nott’s faces did not comfort Harry.

“Most will leave you alone unless provoked,” answered Malfoy. “However, there are a few guards that just like hurting people.”

Having grown up with the Dursleys, Harry believed that. “Yeah, people kind of suck that way,” he stated. It wasn’t a new notion for him that some people were just angry and vengeful. It was probably foolish of him to assume there would be guards in place to protect him. Umbridge was proof enough that ministry employees could be bitter and corrupt.

“We can warn you which guards to look out for,” offered Malfoy. Harry appreciated the gesture, but even if he knew which guards were dicks, it wasn’t like he could avoid them if they wanted to confront him.

“It seems like you already caught Burke’s notice,” pointed out Nott. “He’s a nasty piece of work. It certainly makes me glad I’m past my prime.”

Before Harry could ask what that had to do with anything, the sound of the door opening at the end of the hallway interrupted their conversation. As the other prisoners did not immediately start moaning, Harry figured it was the guards this time instead of more dementors. His suspicion was confirmed as he heard them passing out lunch. Harry was surprised when it sounded like the guards were having a more difficult time rousing the prisoners than they had that morning. A large number of the ones that were responding were refusing the food.

By the time the guards reached Harry cell, they looked annoyed. Fortunately, Burke was not amongst them. They passed Harry his tray and he was surprised to note that it was the exact same meal as breakfast.

“Is it always the same?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” grumbled a few prisoners that heard Harry’s question. Harry took the tray without further comment and once again started picking at his food. He thought he understood now why so many of the prisoners refused their meal. Of course, the dementor visit likely negatively influenced their appetite as well. Harry was beginning to understand how most prisoners ended up looking rather gaunt despite Malfoy’s assurance that he would get three meals a day.

Harry forced himself to eat the meal and then morosely lounged on his cot. Despite the meal rousing the other prisoners, few seemed sociable at the moment. It didn’t help that almost immediately after lunch, Harry could hear Crabbe defecating. The smell trailed into Harry’s cell confirming his fears that when he could no longer hold in his own bowel movements, not only would Malfoy and Nott be privy to the view, the prisoners closest to him would likely be informed by smell and sound. It was not something Harry looked forward to.

Eventually the men around him start conversing. The murmur of it reached Harry though he only caught snippets of their conversations.

“Potter?”

Harry sat up from his cot and turned towards Malfoy. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you give us an update on current events?” proposed Malfoy.

“What?” Harry asked confused.

“Well, the guards don’t generally keep us informed. We have to wait for news from our judicial-wizards, but those meetings tend to be focused on our cases… So, what’s been happening in the world?”

“Er, well… Fudge is no longer minister. It’s Scrimgeour now,” Harry started. He wasn’t sure exactly what to talk about but he saw the value in talking. In the quiet mood that had sprung up after lunch, Harry had been left to worry about his situation. Even though these men were death eaters, speaking to Malfoy and Nott helped distract him.

Harry talked a little of current events that he picked up mostly from Hermione, but it quickly became clear that that wasn’t the main topic Malfoy was fishing for.

“And how’s school?” asked Malfoy during a lull in Harry’s narrative of some of the more recent prophet articles. Harry immediately understood that Malfoy was asking after his son. Harry bit his lip while he considered how candid he ought to be with Malfoy. Harry eventually decided to be open given the fact that if the situation was reversed, he would want to know about his loved ones even if it wasn’t all good news.

“I have no proof,” Harry stated cautiously aware that none of his friends had believed him, “but I think Malfoy – er, Draco – I think that Draco was given some sort of task from Voldemort.”

Malfoy flinched but Harry didn’t know if that was due to the news about his son or from Harry stating Voldemort’s name.

“Don’t say his name!” someone hissed but Harry wasn’t sure which prisoner it came from. He was aware that more prisoners were now paying attention to his and Malfoy’s conversation.

“What sort of task?” Malfoy asked, bypassing the issue of speaking Voldemort’s name.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out all year,” Harry admitted. He watched Malfoy’s face and was surprised by the amount of pain he was displaying. Harry recalled how he used to think of Malfoy as cold and was surprised how quickly his opinion had changed. Dumbledore had mentioned something about Malfoy likely seeing Azkaban as safe compared to Voldemort’s wrath, but Harry didn’t think the man was actually that selfish. He genuinely seemed pained at the thought of his son having been set a task. Besides, it was becoming clear to Harry that Azkaban was hardly a safe haven.

Harry briefly recounted spotting Malfoy before school started and following him around. Malfoy and Nott seemed to be listening attentively. Malfoy only interrupted when Harry mentioned his suspicions regarding the state of Draco’s forearm.

“You think he’s been marked?” Malfoy asked breathlessly.

“He’s a bit young,” stated Nott. Harry thought it almost sounded like Nott was trying to reassure Malfoy that it was unlikely Voldemort would mark Draco.

“I’m not sure Volde- er, You-know-who cares how young someone is,” Harry shrugged. After all, Voldemort had attacked Harry as a baby and has been making similar attempts since Harry found out about the magical world. He also didn’t care how old Cedric had been before he had him killed either.

“But if it’s any consolation, my friends doubt that he’s marked. They too doubt Vol- you-know-who would mark someone still in school,” Harry attempted to reassure Malfoy despite his own doubts. Although Malfoy was wearing his best poker face, he seemed paler and more drawn than Harry could remember seeing him. Including the times just before dementors started patrolling their hallways. Faced with Draco’s father’s clear concern, Harry almost felt guilty about his suspicions.

“It’s rare but not unheard of,” stated a voice Harry thought belonged to Walden McNair.

“It’s an honour to be cho-“ Lestrange started to say from the cell next to Harry but Malfoy interrupted.

“What else? There must be more to your suspicions than just an odd conversation with a shopkeeper,” said Malfoy.

Harry told them about the strange events that had been happening all year. He felt awkward accusing Draco of Katie’s predicament to his father, but he forged on. A few of the other prisoners snorted in amusement when Harry mentioned Ron had accidentally consumed a love potion meant for Harry, but Malfoy seemed as tense as ever throughout the whole conversation. Harry thought it was an odd twist of fate that despite his strong accusations all year, Harry was parroting some of Hermione’s arguments about how Harry could be wrong about Malfoy. Harry himself didn’t believe but he found himself wanting to comfort Malfoy.

“It could have been anyone,” Harry stated after he mentioned the poison was supposed to be a gift for Dumbledore. Something of his own doubt must have been clear in his expression though.

“But you believe Draco was behind this,” Malfoy stated more than asked.

“Yes… I’ve tried to follow him a few times,” Harry was reluctant to admit how obsessed he’d become, “but he uses Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts so it’s difficult to-”

“Vince? My Vincent?” asked Crabbe from the cell next to Harry. Harry wondered if he should start referring to them by their first names so he could keep everything straight.

“Yes. I don’t know how much he knows about Draco’s task,” Harry stated. Although he couldn’t see Crabbe’s face, Harry thought he heard the same fatherly concern that Malfoy had been expressing.

“And Theodore? Has my son been aiding in these… events?” asked Nott.

“Not as far as I can tell,” Harry stated. While he though the news would make Nott feel relieved, Harry remembered that they were surrounded by other death eaters. Not helping in a task set by Voldemort might actually backfire later on. “I think Malf, er, _Draco_ is mostly trying to do it on his own. I overheard Snape offering his help but Draco… he thought it was best if he did it himself…”

For a few minutes, the others were quiet as they absorbed the news. Eventually some of the men started guessing at what Draco’s task could be. Each suggestion seemed to worry Malfoy no matter how outrageous it seemed.

Harry must not have concealed his own concern, or pity, because Nott stated, “Severus is sure to help him, Lucius”, but he was watching Harry intently.

“It has been at least seven months,” Lucius responded. “The dark lord expects results. What if it’s already-” Lucius didn’t finish his sentence, but took a steadying breath. He started to pace along his cell. “There must be something I could do, even from here.”

“What are you going to do from here?” asked Mulciber from the cell on Malfoy’s other side.

“I don’t know,” Lucius sounded both frustrated and desperate. “If I can contact Narcissa-”

“Narcissa would have already demanded your aid if she thought could you help,” Mulciber pointed out.

“Well I can’t do nothing,” Lucius hissed. “What if... Draco cannot fail.”

Harry was a little horrified to see that Malfoy seemed to be on the verge of crying. It was ten thousand times worse than being faced with a crying Cho. Harry could not think of a single thing to say. The man had appeared cold and distant in the past, but it was clear that he loved his son. Harry recalled the numerous times Draco had indignantly proclaimed he would tell his father about any sleight. Harry had the epiphany that Dumbledore was wrong. Lucius Malfoy has been fighting his son’s battles for years. The man would probably gladly stand in front of even Voldemort if he though he could shelter Draco from further harm. Being stuck in Azkaban, unable to help his son, was probably a fate worst than any pain Voldemort could dish out for his previous failures.

Lucius paced in his cell while the corridor grew silent. The man would occasionally wipe furiously at his eyes. He made no obvious sound, but it was clear to Harry that the man could not hold in his tears. Harry tied not to watch him, but the alternative was looking at Nott. The older man was watching Harry intently, which made him uncomfortable.

“Oi! Potter!” Rodolphus called out, making Harry jump.

“What?” he asked.

“Which team is winning the quidditch league?” Rodolphus asked.

Harry stared at the wall separating him from Lestrange incredulously. The man wanted to talk about quidditch now? Harry couldn’t help thinking the man was an insensitive arsehole. Harry figured the man must have as clear a view of Malfoy as Harry did. Clearly it wasn’t the time to talk quidditch.

“Please tell me it’s the Appleby Arrows,” Nott stated. Harry turned his incredulous expression towards Nott feeling even more confused. He had just begun to think that Nott was alright, even if the man was a death eater. Harry couldn’t figure out why Nott was focused on quidditch instead of saying something supportive to his friend. Or even an acknowledgement that the situation sucked balls.

“Nah, Puddlemere United is the only one worth their salt,” announced Crabbe.

“I’ve always rooted for the Harpies,” announced Lestrange.

“We remember that all too well,” Mulciber snidely commented. As the others started ribbing Lestrange about some youthful indiscretion where he apparently tried to sneak into the Harpies locker room but instead mistakenly went into the opposing team’s locker room. Apparently, the Moose Jaw Meteorites were not too happy with him.

“I didn’t even know Canadians could get angry,” laughed Rabastian as he recalled the trouble his brother had gotten into.

As the others continued to tease Lestrange, Harry noted that Malfoy seemed to be calming down. He did not join in the conversation, but he no longer seemed to be breaking down. Harry thought he understood why Lestrange and Nott had started the conversation, but Harry probably would have preferred if someone had first acknowledged how crappy everything was. Still, Harry started talking about the recent matches he’s read about in the papers. He even spoke about the recent Hogwarts quidditch games, though he skipped over his own recent injury.

As the other men started recounting their own Hogwarts quidditch days, Lucius was eventually pulled into the conversation. Harry learnt that he and Mr. Weasley started their animosity on the quidditch pitch. Harry hadn’t even known Mr. Weasley had played quidditch. He probably should have guessed given how many of his children played the sport.

Harry laughed at Malfoy’s recounting of his own glory days playing quidditch. It seemed he pulled as many dirty tricks as his son. Even if Draco wasn’t playing quidditch at the moment, it gave Harry some ideas of what to look out for. Assuming Harry ever got out of Azkaban.

When Harry turned to Nott, he noticed the man was smiling at him. Harry wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but the man almost seemed proud. Harry felt a little guilty for thinking poorly of him before. The man clearly knew his friend better than Harry. It was clear now that the change of conversation had probably helped more than empty platitudes. There was nothing Malfoy could do from Azkaban, so unless Harry helped him escape, he could only offer empty words. And even if Harry had shared how Sirius managed to escape, Harry didn’t know if the same strategy would even work for Malfoy. Could peacocks even swim?

As the conversations continued around him, Harry let himself slowly relax again. At least until an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach started making itself known. He tried to ignore it as long as he could.

“Potter?” asked Nott.

Harry looked at him helplessly. “I need to...” Harry trailed off, but glanced towards the toilet in the corner of his cell. When he glanced back at Nott and Malfoy, it was clear that they both understood his problem. It was also clear that they both could clearly see him if he went to the bathroom now. Harry realized he has yet to see either of them go. He wasn’t sure if Azkaban’s diet contributed to constipation or if both men managed to do their business when he was asleep. Harry wished he could train his body to wait until the dead of the night. Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could hold it in for much longer.

“Could you maybe, er, not look?” Harry asked.

Nott smirked at him, but moved to the other side of his cell and turned his attention to Crabbe. Harry thought the man could probably still see him in his periphery, but at least wasn’t watching him full on. Malfoy merely nodded and went to lie down on his cot. Harry figured Malfoy probably understood Harry’s discomfort. It must have been a hard adjustment for someone as dignified as him.

Harry tried to go as quickly as possible. He was glad that it wasn’t particularly loud, and it didn’t clog the toilet. The situation was embarrassing enough as it was. Harry waited for one of the other prisoners to comment, but no one did.

Conversations eventually tapered off, but Harry felt more relaxed than previously. He couldn’t say Azkaban was pleasant, but he thought he could survive it until Dumbledore got him out. Harry still hoped it would be soon. As nice as the death eaters were being - and boy did Harry think that was a weird thought – he would rather be back at Hogwarts and know that his friends weren’t in trouble for helping him at the ministry.

A door at the end of the hall opened, which caused Harry to tense. It was difficult to tell time here, but it felt too early for supper. The sound of footsteps confirmed that it was guards and not dementors returning.

Burke and another guard walked over to Harry cell. For a brief moment, Harry thought that perhaps Dumbledore had done it and Harry was free. But one look at Burke’s smiling face let Harry know that wasn’t the case.

“Stand up and face the wall, Potter,” Burke said.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Just do it,” Burke insisted while pointing his wand at Harry. The other guard also had his wand trained on Harry and didn’t seem inclined to answer Harry’s question. Harry got up slowly and reluctantly turned his back on both men.

“Hands against the wall,” Burke instructed. When Harry was in position, he heard his cell door unlock. Burke was quickly at his side, and manhandling his hands behind his back. Harry’s face smacked into the wall. His glasses were pushed up but fortunately didn’t break.

Burke started guiding Harry out of the cell while the other guard kept his wand trained on Harry.

“Are you releasing the boy?” asked Malfoy.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Burke responded as he dragged Harry away. The other prisoners watched their progress with even more interest than when Harry arrived.

As they moved past the main doors, Harry noted that no other guard was stationed there. He assumed the second guard with them was supposed to be at that post, but as Burke led him down the stairs, the guard followed.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry expected Burke to take him back down the hallway that he came from, but instead the guards turned the other way. They passed a number of rooms that seemed to be meeting rooms, but Burke hurried Harry along too quickly for him to get a proper look.

When Harry saw a large B displayed at the end of the hallway, he wondered if they were transferring him to the other ward. However, Burke stopped in front of a door just before block B started. Unlike the other rooms they passed along the way, this one didn’t seem to have a large window allowing them to see into it.

“Wiblin,” Burke gestured to the other guard to open the door. Wiblin waved his wand and the door swung open.

Unlike the rest of the prison, this room was brightly lit. No longer accustomed to such light. Harry had to close his eyes against the brightness. When Burke urged him forward, Harry forced open his eyes. And immediately wished he hadn’t. In the center of the room was a chair with chains; exactly the same type that had been at his trial last year. Harry didn’t know what these men planned to do, but he was certain he did not want to sit in that chair.

“Potter, sit,” Burke said.

“No,” Harry replied and he tried to prevent Burke from pulling him any closer.

“Sit,” Burke insisted. Harry tried to resist, but after a short scuffle, he felt his limbs lock up. With a few swishes from Wiblin’s wand, Harry was moved towards the chair. As soon as he sat down, the chains wrapped around him. Once he was secure, Wiblin release Harry from the spells he cast. Harry tried to struggle, but the chains tightened painfully.

“It occurred to me that we overlooked an important aspect of your processing, Potter,” Burke stated. Once he was sure that Harry was secure, Burke moved towards a cabinet on the side of the room. He grabbed a box and made his way back to Harry. He summoned a chair – one without chains – and sat down facing Harry.

Harry tried not to respond, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he was scaring him. But his resolve crumbled when Burke started tugging his shirt collar away from Harry’s neck.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, somewhat hysterically. He was not reassured when Burke merely smirked at him and charmed his shirt to remain in place.

“You should be thanking me. I agreed to work overtime just to ensure that you would be settled in,” Burke responded mildly. “Do you know how we help prisoners adjust to their new circumstances?”

Harry eyed the box, knowing he wouldn’t like whatever was in there.

“We find it helps if they have a visual reminder,” Burke stated as he opened the box. Harry braced himself for any sort of torture device, but only a potion bottle and some cloth were in the box. Burke pulled out the cloth and cut off a piece using his wand. Harry flinched at the sound and the chains constricted once again.

“Of course, we have to make sure it’s permanent. Not easily removed by a spell or whatnot,” Burke continued. He uncorked the potion and poured some onto the cloth. “You know, make sure the message really sinks in.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at those words. He flashed back to Umbridge saying much the same thing during his detentions with the blood quill.

Burke brought the cloth to Harry’s neck. Harry braced for pain, but it only felt like wet cloth brushing over his skin. After a moment, he tossed the cloth aside and brought his wand to Harry’s neck.

“What are you-“ Harry started to ask but broke out in a surprised cry as Burke started to move his wand. A sharp pain followed where Burke’s wand touched.

“Hold still now,” Burke admonished. “it’d be a shame if it was all sloppy.”

Harry tried to glance down but couldn’t see the area that was in pain. Noticing this, Burke summoned a mirror that was at the back of the room. Burke arranged it so Harry could watch as he worked. Before Burke returned to his task, Harry was able to see a black line on his neck.

Before he could catch his breath, Burke started moving his wand again. Immediately, pain blossomed from the area where wand and flesh met. A black mark appeared following the path the wand took.

Burked hummed in satisfaction and drew his wand away. With horror, Harry realized it was the first rune in his prison number.

Burke took a moment to admire his work before he moved his wand back to Harry’s neck. The sharp pain returned.

“Stop,” Harry gasped.

“Surely you can take it, Potter,” Burke responded.

“You – you can’t do this,” Harry said.

“I already am,” Burke gleefully stated and went back to working on the second rune. Harry tried to struggle, but the chains already held him tight and only constricted further the more Harry struggled.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” Wiblin asked. “You can cast a torture curse, but can’t take a little tattoo?” The guard moved behind Harry’s chair and pressed down on his shoulders. It didn’t hold Harry any more in place than the chair already managed, but Harry did feel more trapped.

Harry could do nothing as Burke carved the runes and numbers into his neck. He stared over Burke’s shoulder at a spot on the wall and tried to ignore everything. It wasn’t the pain so much as the fact that he felt helpless. He couldn’t stop them, and if Burke was telling the truth, he wouldn’t ever be able to remove it. Even when Dumbledore rescued him – if Dumbledore rescued him – Harry would never be able to truly put it behind him. The tattoo would always be a part of him.

Burke tried to draw it out, but eventually moved back with a satisfied air.

“There you go, Potter. One nice little souvenir,” Burke smirked at him. Harry was tempted to spit in his face, but bit back the impulse. Who knew what else the man would draw on him as revenge. Wiblin moved back towards the cabinet and returned with another potion bottle. Burked poured some on a new piece of cloth and pressed it to Harry’s neck. Harry hissed at the newest sensation of pain.

Harry really didn’t want to look, but eventually could resist no more. The black symbols were not overly large but stood out prominently on his neck. The skin around the area was an angry red shade, but as Burke patted the area, the red seemed to be receding.

“We’ll have you all healed in another minute,” Burke commented. Harry thought it was a rather odd concern for the man that just violated him by putting the unwanted tattoo there in the first place. He didn’t know why the man would care if he was healed or not. Perhaps he would get fired if Harry’s tattoo got infected.

Harry refused to say anything to both men as Burke continued to pat the tattoo for longer than a minute. In fact, as the pain receded completely, Harry became aware that Burke was no longer patting the area so much as caressing it. As his hand passed from one side to the other, he let his pinky drag along Harry’s collarbone. Harry’s unease grew at this new attention. He didn’t forget Burke’s extra attention during his pat down.

“I need to get back to my post,” Wiblin stated, causing Burke to pull away from Harry.

A few quick incantations ensured that Harry’s skin was clean, his shirt was no longer stuck to the side, and the chains unravelled. The tattoo area felt a little tingly, but before Harry could feel it for himself, Burke heaved Harry up as Wiblin put away the boxes. Harry felt unsteady and couldn’t move away from Burke as he spelled Harry’s hands behind him again.

Harry didn’t protest as the men guided him back to his cell. He felt a little like one of Mrs. Figgs’ cats going to the vet. Resistant to get into the carrier on the way, but couldn’t wait to get back in after being poked and prodded.

Harry didn’t look at any of the other prisoners as he made his way down the hallway. He just wanted to lie down, hopefully sleep, and pretend that nothing had happened.

“Back where you belong,” murmured Burke as Harry stepped into his cell. His hands were unspelled and the cell door closed. Harry turned towards him but said nothing. He just wanted Burke to go away.

“You’re really one of them now,” tried Burke again. Harry made some non-committal noise, which wasn’t the reaction Burke was angling for. However, Wiblin shifted and started moving back towards the end of the hallway and Burke reluctantly followed.

Harry was glad to see them go, but it left a clear view of Malfoy and Nott’s cells. Both men were watching him. Feeling ashamed, Harry turned away. He sat on his cot and stared at the wall.

“Potter,” Malfoy called softly. Harry ignored him and stared more intently at the wall. Harry ignored his second attempt as well. His hands started trembling so Harry clenched them into fists.

“Harry,” Malfoy coaxed. Despite himself, he turned towards the man.

“What did they do?” Malfoy asked, keeping his voice low and coaxing. To Harry’s horror, he felt tears welled up in his eyes.  

Harry tilted his head and slowly pulled his collar down until the new tattoo was visible. Malfoy hissed in shock.

“Bastards,” muttered Nott.

Unable to hold in it, a tear fell down Harry’s cheek. He let go of his shirt and furiously wiped away the tear before rubbing at his eyes. It didn’t stop them from coming, now that Harry had let the first tear fall.

“They won’t get away with it,” vowed Lucius, trying to comfort the boy.

“They already have,” whispered Harry, unaware he mimicked Burke. He felt defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Harry's prison number, I did extensive research (i.e. did a quick google search and based it on the first few results and didn't verify their accuracy):  
> Dagaz-Dawn: Intuition, light within, breakthrough, awakening, embarking on an enterprise  
> Hagalaz: transformation, egg of life, hail, wrath of nature, uncontrolled forces. I skewed it because the other char's tats are. Also, I find it fits with my plans for the story, but perhaps not in the intended way... I know I'm being vague but don't want to spoil anything.
> 
> ~ ~ ~  
> Also, if your friend is going through something, it's probably NOT best to ignore it and talk about quidditch. There are various reasons these men take that approach and think it's the best option. However, some people need their friends to just sit with them and acknowledge how crappy the situation is even if they can't do anything about it.


	6. Scrimgeour Scrounges Some More

Not wanting to talk, Harry lay on his cot and ignored everyone. Rodophous tried to coax Harry by taking in that baby voice he and his wife seemed to love so much, but Lucius told him to shut it. Surprisingly the man did. Fortunately, no one tried asking him about quidditch as a means to distract him; if they had, Harry was sure he would have screamed at them.

Harry heard the sound of the door opening at the end of the hall, but none of the pitiful whimpers from the prisoners which signaled that it was the guards again rather than the dementors. How crazy Harry’s life at gotten that he preferred his biggest fear to visit him than some guards. Harry idly wondered if a boggert would still turn into a dementor should Harry ever face one again.

Fortunately, the guards were merely handing out dinner and not there specifically for Harry again. Once they got to Harry’s cell, he refused the food. One look at Wiblin holding the food tray caused Harry to lose what little appetite he had.

As the guards moved away from his cell, Harry caught Malfoy looking at him with concern. Harry quickly looked at the walls of his cell instead. He didn’t know what to do with Malfoy’s pity. He felt too vulnerable, and Malfoy and Nott had already seen him cry once today.

Conversations sprung up around Harry, but they were soft enough that they were mostly background noise. Harry appreciated it as he could eavesdrop from one conversation to another instead of being alone with his own thoughts. Crabbe, Nott and Avery were talking about the first meal they wanted to have once they got out of Azkaban. As far as Harry could tell, only Nott was trying to appeal his sentence, but it didn’t stop the others from reminiscing about the days when their meals contained variety and flavour.

The Lestrange brothers were playing a game. It took Harry a couple of minutes to figure out it was a wizarding variant of the muggle _Battleship_ game. Only the premise was about sending a niffler into your neighbour’s yard to look for buried treasure. Harry wasn’t sure how they kept track of where their treasure was or where they searched. Unless the bar of soap left enough residue on the wall, they must be keeping track all in their heads. Or they found a way to smuggle in stuff.

Malfoy and Mulciber were running through a list of spells. When one of the Lestrange brothers jumped in to suggest some sort of anti-clotting spell, Lucius snidely remarked that it was rather advanced and thus not likely to be part of the sixth-year curriculum. Harry realized they were planning more spells to review with him. It brought tears to his eyes again, though this time for a happier reason.

Harry fell into a fitful sleep. He was woken up twice to having dementors at his cell door. The first time, Harry pretended to still be asleep. The second time, he sat up in bed after Crabbe gave a rather particularly loud whimper. Harry watched them as they watched him. There were two dementors this time, but Harry couldn’t tell if they were the same ones he’d seen before. Neither spoke. One dementor hovered back and forth from each end of the cell door. Harry thought it was trying to get as good a look at Harry as it could despite behind unable to move around him. They left after five minutes without saying a word to him. If Harry had any other visitors that night, he slept though it.

“Why are they so interested in you?” asked an annoyed voice down the hall. Harry thought it might be Avery.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered.

“You must have got some inkling,” continued the voice.

“Leave the boy be,” Nott muttered after he spat out a mouthful of toothpaste during his morning routine.

“Just saying I’d like to know why they keep stopping by. The rest of us aren’t getting much sleep. Perhaps if they want the boy-”

“Leave it,” ordered Nott. He was watching Harry, but his eyes kept trailing down to Harry’s neck and the new prison tattoo. Self-consciously, Harry rubbed at the area. It didn’t hurt and was partially covered by the thin shirt, but Harry felt like it was as noticeable as a giant scarlet letter.

It didn’t help that when the guards brought breakfast, they too were staring at the area. Harry assumed that Burke or Wiblin must have been bragging about it to their colleges.

“Potter,” said one guard as he passed over the tray of food. “Burke shouldn’t have-”

The second guard shushed the first while elbowing him. They both left without further comment, so Harry morosely picked at his food.

“So, Potter,” Malfoy stated as he tapped the bar to remove his empty tray. “I can’t imagine you’ll be here much longer.”

“That makes one of us,” Harry said as he rubbed absently at his neck. He’d been doing it all morning.

“It might not be tomorrow,” Malfoy conceded. “However, I would be surprised if you weren’t back in time for your end of year exams. You ought to keep on top of your subjects.”

Harry recalled Malfoy and Mulciber’s conversation from the night before, and figured Malfoy was trying to see if Harry would be receptive to it. He was, but didn’t know how they would teach him new spells without actually being able to practice. It was fun ‘trying out’ the darker spells the day before, but Harry doubted he had retained more than a handful of the ones they mentioned, and he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to do the spells even if he had a wand.

“I doubt Burke, or the other guards are going to let me owl for my school supplies. Or let me practice for an hour each day,” Harry remarked.

“Shame,” commented Rodolphus Lestrange. “Burke would be the perfect test dummy for _1001 Ways to Curse your Enemies_.”

Harry snorted as he pictured Burke tied up to one of the D.A’s practice dummies.

“Since when do you need permission to do something?” asked Malfoy. “The way Draco tells it, you’ve broken every school rule there is.”

Lucius’ voice wobbled a bit over Draco’s name, but he smirked at Harry after he spoke. Harry was surprised for a moment that Draco would have talked to his father about him, but realized that he probably sent letters home complaining about ‘Saint Potter’. Harry couldn’t imagine either of Draco’s parents being that interested but felt oddly pleased by the thought. Draco had frustrated Harry enough over the years that he felt smug satisfaction that he had been equally vexing for Draco.

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” hedged Harry, but smiled for the first time that day.

“Right, _allegedly_ ,” teased Malfoy. “My point is that you can keep on top of your spell work regardless of what the guards want.”

“But I won’t be able to practice,” Harry insisted. “I’m better at remembering if I can feel the spell, you know?”

“It will take more work,” conceded Malfoy, “But you don’t have much else to do in here anyway. Plenty of time for review.”

And that was at the heart of their offer. Harry knew that if he let these men teach him spells, even more dark curses, it would be better than being left to his own thoughts. He didn’t want to dwell on what Ron, Hermione and the others might be faced with. His mind conjured images of Hermione strapped in the chair with chains, or Ron being dragged past Harry’s cell before he got his own cell down the hall. Worst was the hint of resentment that he was the only one here, but he tried his best to squash those thoughts before they festered. But that left room for thoughts about the guards and dementors to filter in. Harry didn’t want to picture Burke’s face as he tattooed Harry or the smirk he gave that just promised there was more horrid things in store.

Plus is wasn’t an altruistic offer on the part of the others. They too needed distractions to keep their own negative memories away. As Harry stared at Malfoy’s earnest expression, he wondered how he had spent his days prior to Harry’s arrival. Harry speculated whether his cell had been empty the whole time. If so, that pretty much just left Lestrange as the only person Malfoy could see. He could talk to the men on either side of him, and possibly even a few cells down if the spoke loud enough. But after months of being locked up, not allowed any visitors beside the guards or their judicial-wizards, their conversations must have grown stale. Harry’s presence shook things up and gave them something new and challenging to occupy their time with.

“How would this work?” asked Harry.

“Well, I am quite gifted in charms and transfiguration,” boasted Malfoy. It was the first instance where the man lived up to the mental image Harry carried of the arrogant Malfoy family. It surprised Harry that he didn’t mind the bragging as much as he once would have.

“I’m not half bad at charms either,” said Mulciber. While his words were humble, his tone was not. “And of course, the dark arts.”

From the cell next to Harry, Rodolphus snorted. “I taught you most of those spells.”

“Well, now you can teach Potter,” Mulciber replied.

“Er, you probably taught me more than I should know already,” stated Harry.

“We’ve barely even started,” said Malfoy. Harry wondered if that was his cue to back out. “But if it makes you feel better, we’ll start with a Hogwarts-approved defense against the dark arts review.”

“I can help with potions,” offered Crabbe.

“That one might be a bit hard,” observed Nott. Harry agreed, but wondered if he could ask some theoretical questions. Snape had never been clear, preferring to berate his students for not automatically knowing. And Slughorn assumed Harry had an excellent grasp of potions. Harry feared that posing too many questions would give him away. However, Harry discovered a new-found appreciation for the subject ever since discovering the half-blood prince’s book.

“True, but I wouldn’t mind the review,” said Harry.

“Oh! In that case, Luci could tell you about his favourite poisons,” cackled Rodolphus.

Harry’s eyebrows had flown up at that statement. Lucius wasn’t sure if it was talk of poisons or the ridiculous nickname that did it, but he decided to address the former.

“I have a small collection of rare poisons,” Lucius answered. “...for prosperity.”

“Er, right,” Harry answered.

Nott snorted at that. “Walden will help with magical creatures. Avery could help with ancient runes-”

“I don’t take ancient runes,” interrupted Harry.

“Just as well. Not sure how we’d have pulled that off without being able to read and write them,” responded Nott. “What about arithmancy?”

“Er no, I didn’t take that either,” Harry said suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I am taking herbology.”

“I can help with that!” exclaimed Crabbe.

“And I can help with alchemy,” concluded Nott.

“Er...” Harry debated how to tell the man that he wasn’t taking the subject either.

“It won’t hurt to know the basics,” said Nott firmly. Harry nodded in agreement.

“Great!” Malfoy clapped his hands together. “Are we missing anything else?”

“Ancient studies?” posed Rabastan.

“Do you remember enough of it?” asked Malfoy.

“Some,” said the man defensively. Rather than argue, Malfoy just agreed that it could be added to the plans. None of the men suggested divination, which suited Harry just fine. They also did not suggest muggle studies, but Harry figured he knew more about that than any of them. Perhaps he’d offer to teach it to _them_ the next time they brought up the dark arts.

They asked Harry to recount what he had been learning so far that year. Harry was surprised how difficult it was to remember. He knew Hermione would have been disappointed at his fumbling attempts to recall what happened in class even just a couple of weeks ago. In all honestly, most of his attention span was taken up by either Ginny or Draco. He hadn’t been paying that much attention in class. Not that he would have admitted that aloud.

Luckily, his new tutors didn’t seem to notice. They insisted Harry review the wand movements and magical theory behind each spell he mentioned. They would help fill in gaps on his grasp of the theory. Whenever he wasn’t sure about the wand movement, either Malfoy or Nott would demonstrate. Occasionally this was complicated by the fact that neither men could recall themselves. It became somewhat of a game of magical _Broken Telephone_ where one man would demonstrate to another in the cell in front of him. It slowly moved diagonally until Harry would see for himself the wand movements. He rather hoped nothing got lost as it moved from man to man. He wouldn’t put it past the Lestrange brothers to purposely screw it up.

The review took them all the way to the lunch hour. It had been haphazard, jumping from one subject to another as Harry recalled different parts of the curriculum. What little Harry could remember filled up the time until the guards arrived. The men quieted down as the guards handed out the meals. Harry was happy to see that Burke was not among them.

“Everyone should think of one or two simple spells in their area of expertise that we can show Potter in the afternoon,” said Malfoy once the guards had left the hallway. “Though perhaps moving forward, it would be easier to focus on one or two subjects per day.”

While they ate, Crabbe started describing a plant called the Shy Tortoise Hyacinth. Much like other hyacinths, they emit a sweet-smelling odor... so long as they remain untouched. Even the slightest poke or prod causes them to emit a foul stench. Crabbe described it as a cross between feet and sulfur.

“I don’t recall that being part of Hogwarts curriculum,” stated Avery.

“No, but I used it in my sixth year to get out of taking a transfiguration test I hadn’t studied for,” Crabbed reminisced with a laugh.

“Merlin, I remember that,” moaned Malfoy. “The stench lingered for days.”

“Transfiguration? I can’t imagine professor McGonagall was too pleased,” Harry speculated.

“She wasn’t. She obliterated Slytherin’s chance to win the house cup that year,” Malfoy complained.

“She still hasn’t forgiven me,” Crabbe stated. “She told Vince his first week at Hogwarts, that if he brought any plants to class, she would ensure they ended up back in his dorm room with a permanent sticking charm.”

Harry laughed at that and was somewhat disappointed that Crabbe Jr. had never tried the same stunt. He and Ron would have laughed themselves silly knowing Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had to share a room with a temperamental and smelly plant. Harry might have even tried to sneak into their common room again in hopes to set the thing off.

“Pity we can’t owl order one for Burke,” stated Mulciber. Harry laughed as he imaged the look on the man’s face as he accidentally set it off as he opened the package.

“Except we’d be stuck smelling him every time he came to visit us,” pointed out Harry, but he couldn’t stop giggling at the mental picture.

Just as they settled down and Malfoy was getting ready to teach Harry a new charm, they heard the door at the end of the hall open again. Harry’s mood immediately plummeted. He hadn’t realized how successful the spell review was at uplifting his mood until then.

Given they just finished lunch, Harry assumed whoever was walking the halls didn’t have a benign reason for being there. And since he heard foot steps, he knew it was men and not dementors. Harry braced himself for another visit from Burke.

But it wasn’t Burke at all.

As the footsteps came to a stop in front of Harry, he found himself blinking at Scrimgeour.

“Hello Potter,” Scrimgeour greeted. Harry though the man seemed uncomfortable but was trying to put on a calm and collected front.

“Minister,” Harry responded somewhat hesitantly. He didn’t bother getting up from his cot. Instead he sat cross-legged, facing the man.

Scrimgeour gestured at the guard that had led him to Harry’s cell. The man seemed reluctant to leave, but eventually did so. Scrimgeour glanced at the nearby cells and seemed unhappy that he couldn’t dismiss the other prisoners.

“This is unfortunately business, Harry,” the man said. “Rather unfortunate.”

Harry said nothing as the man took in Harry’s cell.

“You wouldn’t believe the rumours going around,” the man continued. He paused, but Harry was determined to say nothing. He knew from the time that Scrimgeour visited at Christmas that the man would eventually come around to what he wanted to say.

“But it’s not to late to salvage this. Many people still believe in the chosen one,” Scrimgeour gave Harry an intense look. Harry merely raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. It was easier to ignore the man when they had been in the Weasley’s garden and there was a convenient gnome putzing about. The most exciting thing in Harry’s cell was the diminishing bar of soap that Harry really hoped they would replace soon.

“If you were to say, do your duty, and stand beside the ministry-”

Harry let out a disgusted noised and turned his head away from the man. It gave Scrimgeour just the right angle to see the edge of Harry’s new tattoo peaking over the collar of his shirt. The minister let out a shocked gasp. Although suddenly embarrassed and ashamed, Harry took it as a sign that Burke’s actions were not ministry approved. He hoped it was enough to get Burke fired, but considering Umbridge still had her job, Harry wasn’t going to hold his breath.

“I don’t know minister,” Harry said, doing is best to keep is voice pleasant and even. “It’s going to be awfully hard to be your mascot when your employees insist on displaying their corruption on my body. Between my hand and my neck, I’m starting quite the collection. I’m sure it’s not exactly the message you want to send.”

“Yes, well,” Scrimgeour made a visible effort to pull himself together. “It’s a story of personal growth. You can still stand alongside the ministry helping us while we help you. My offer to introduce you to the auror department still stands. We can still arrange it so that you have a bright future as an auror.”

Despite the man’s words, he was glancing at Harry’s neck and unable to completely mask his unease. Harry’s unease was also growing as it dawned on him that he might no longer be able to pursue his chosen career. Could someone with an Azkaban tattoo become an auror? Did he even still want it? Harry recalled his arrest and subsequent dash to Azkaban thanks to aurors who showed no interest in helping him. Harry had no desire to see them again, let alone work alongside them. Working in any branch of the ministry had never been so unappealing.

“Do you even hear yourself?” asked Harry, not bothering to keep the pleasant tone of moment ago. “Exactly what am I supposed to find inspiring about this situation? Nothing has changed. Like Crouch, you’re sending people to Azkaban without trials. I bet you’re still arresting random people and pretending they’re death eaters. And like Fudge, you’re pretending you have a handle on things, but you’re keeping corrupt employees who torture others. Until that changes, my answer won’t change.”

Scrimgeour did nothing to hide his displeasure.

“I don’t know what Dumbledore has been filling your head with-” he started but Harry cut him off.

“I didn’t need Dumbledore to point this out. I’ve seen it for myself. I’ve lived it,” Harry said tiredly. “Look, if you want people to believe you’re doing something, maybe you should actually _do_ something. Something real. If you’re going to arrest someone for being a death eater, maybe make sure they really are a death eater. And take a closer look at your employees. Get rid of the ones that-”

“Harry,” Scrimgeour cut in. “You don’t know what you’re saying. These- these accusations you’re making – well, it takes a process to investigate. I can’t just fire someone because someone said something against them. It takes time to really investigate.”

“And yet, you threw in someone like Stan Shunpike into Azkaban without the same curtesy,” Harry pointed out the minister’s hypocrisy.

“You’re young,” Scrimgeour argued as he brushed Harry’s comments aside. “You just don’t grasp the full picture.”

“I think he’s understood it just fine, minister,” a sneering voice called from one of the cells. At Mulciber’s words, Scrimgeour seemed to recall that they were not truly alone. He straightened up and smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of his cloak.

“Well,” Scrimgeour said, focusing intently on Harry as if not acknowledging the others’ presence would afford him the same treatment from the inmates. “It’s all good to be Dumbledore’s man Harry, but that loyalty will not help you in here. Think about my offer, will you?”

With that, the minister turned and left. Harry listened to his limping gait as he made his way down the hall. As the door closed behind him, Harry sagged.

“Am I an utter idiot?” asked Harry, looking between Malfoy and Nott.

“I think you handled yourself quite well,” Malfoy responded, looking confused.

“But I might not actually get out of here,” Harry thought to Scrimgeour’s parting comment. It seemed like Dumbledore was having trouble getting Harry out of Azkaban. By now Harry had stopped expecting every sound to be Dumbledore pulling off a rescue mission, but he’d held hope that it wouldn’t be too much longer. That seemed so foolish considering Scrimgeour’s visit.

“Didn’t you hear him? He wants you on his side. Which means you still have value in the public eye. I imagine they are realizing they made an error in arresting you and are scrambling to do damage control. Your support would be the fastest way to secure it. Pardons all around,” Malfoy reasoned.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” asked Nott, seemingly out of the blue. Harry blinked at him uncomprehendingly. “You told Scrimgeour it was a sign of the ministry’s corruption.”

“Oh,” Harry glanced at his hand. _I must not tell lies_ stood out clearly for him, but it would be hard for Nott to see from his cell.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Dolores Umbridge was a professor last year,” when both Nott and Malfoy nodded he continued, “well whenever someone pointed out the ministry’s stupidity or said Vold- you-know-who was back, she’d give them detention. It might not surprise you that I got detention a lot. She made students write lines during detention with a blood quill. Mine eventually scarred.”

Malfoy gasped drawing Harry’s attention to the man. Harry was tense. He hated thinking about Umbridge, let alone talk about her. Remembering those detentions still filled him with a sort of impotent anger. Harry half expected death eaters to approve of her methods, but Malfoy looked genuinely horrified on Harry’s behalf. Consequently, for the first time, Harry began to feel at ease with the scar. It was a relief that an adult acknowledged the harm that was done and was repulsed by it instead of attempting willful ignorance.

“Draco didn’t tell you?” asked Harry.

“Draco knew?” questioned Lucius, his voice coming out higher pitched than normal.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said slowly as he second-guessed himself and tried to remember. He knew Draco and his fellow slytherins were willing to help Umbridge, but he wasn’t sure if they did so with knowledge of exactly what went on in detention. Even if they did know, Harry wasn’t sure he could blame them for not speaking up. Harry himself had been adamant about not saying anything in the false belief that it would somehow mean Umbridge won. It seemed stupid now.

“Harry,” Nott said slowly. He was picking his words carefully. “I’m due to see my judicial-wizard soon. It is the only way we have to get messages out into the world. I’d like your permission to tell him about the blood quill... and about the tattoo.”

Harry’s hand snapped back to his neck covering the tattooed area.

“I don’t...” He had been about to say that he didn’t want people to know. Unlike with Umbridge, it wasn’t under a false assumption that it would somehow let Burke win. But it was still too new. Harry was embarrassed by it. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. If he let Nott tell his judicial-wizard, it would be in the papers and everyone would know. If he ever got out, people would look for it almost as much, if not more, than they looked for his scar.

“I think it will help you,” pressed Nott. “Scrimgeour was worried. Those rumours he spoke about – well, I’d bet they was lots of talk against the ministry for arresting the chosen one. This will further gather support for you and against the ministry. And shine a light on the corruption you spoke about.”

Harry considered it. He wasn’t sure what Nott’s motivation was. As surprisingly nice as these men had been to him, what Nott was proposing would impact the outside world. He didn’t know if this would somehow help the death eater agenda.

After a moment, Harry decided he was too tired of Azkaban not to take the chance. He didn’t know if Dumbledore, and likely Ron and Hermione were making any strides in getting him released. If Nott could help by gaining public sympathy for him, it would probably help Dumbledore more than hinder him.

“Alright,” Harry accepted Nott’s offer.

“And would you like Albert’s judicial-wizard to represent you?” prompted Lucius. “He’s quite good at his job.”

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn’t considered it mostly because he hadn’t been given the opportunity to make arrangements. He had hoped that Dumbledore had hired someone to work on his case, but with a sinking feeling, he realized the man had probably intended to represent Harry himself. Given how resistant the ministry was to Dumbledore at the moment, it was probably hindering Harry’s case more than helping.

“Yes please,” Harry said and tried not to feel disloyal to Dumbledore.

“I’ll arrange it during my next meeting,” promised Nott. Harry nodded and felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. It wasn’t much. It might not even help. But it was a plan. A step forward. Even surrounded by concrete walls, Harry suddenly felt a little less trapped.


	7. Showered with Attention

They didn't jump into teaching Harry spells like they had planned. Instead, Nott gave Harry an overview of what to expect during his first meeting with his judicial-wizard and what to say to the guards if they stalled and tried to deny him access to representation.

Given the minister's visit, Lucius was keen to go over the finer points of politics. While Harry was onboard to complain about Fudge and Scrimgeour's failings, he found the historical perspective Lucius provided to be dry. He tried to focus. He knew that it was useful information given the oppositional stance he had with the ministry now. Unfortunately, the subject couldn't hold his interest for long. Fortunately he wasn't the only one.

"Oi! That's enough of that for one day," said Mulciber. "I got a couple of charms Potter might want to know."

Lucius looked annoyed but allowed the subject to be changed.

Mulciber first taught him the spell to temporarily improve one’s sense of smell. It was a good thing that he couldn’t cast the charm at the moment. Being prevented from showering for a few days made Harry self-conscious of his smell. He didn’t need to improve his senses anymore than they already were. However, it was a simple enough spell that he might remember it once he had his wand.

Mulciber also taught Harry what he called the finger trap jinx. It forced an opponent to clap their hands and interlock their fingers.  Nothing prevented the person from immediately separating their hands, but it might give Harry the time needed to fire off a more complex spell. Plus, his opponent might drop their wand in the process. Harry wondered why none of the death eaters had used that spell on him previously, but as he caught Nott surreptitiously copying Harry’s movements, he realized he wasn’t the only one learning new spells.

During his turn to teach Harry something, Crabbe decided to combine herbology and potions. Crabbe told him about a flower that on its own is benign, but if fertilized by unicorn dung, it glowed and could be used in potions. After describing the flower, Crabbe transitioned into potion lesson. Rather than describe a particular potion, he talked about the effects that flower’s stem and petals might have on potions. This led to Macnair jumping in to talk about unicorns and their properties.  While Harry had covered unicorns already, this review helped him make the links between classes.

When the unicorn conversation naturally died down, Rodolphus insisted his lesson be next. Harry was reluctant to learn more dark arts spells. Initially the dark arts tutoring had come off as a joke. When the men had first started suggesting spells, Harry had seen it as fun and a way for them to good-naturedly tease him. It seemed different when they tried to interweave it with his regular sixth year spells.

“I won’t review any defense spells if you are so closed minded about the dark arts themselves,” snipped Rodolphus.

Sensing that Harry was more than willing to forgo defense review if it came tied with dark arts, Lucius decided to cut in.

“What if, for every dark art spell the Lestrange brothers teach you, they show you two defense spells? Preferably one of those defense spells would be to counter or heal the effects of that dark spell,” Lucius proposed.

“Fine,” Harry reluctantly agreed. He knew it would help him to know various counters to dark spells. Furthermore, of all his professors, Snape was the least likely to cut Harry some slack for having missed classes due to imprisonment. Harry _would_ benefit from the defense review.  

Rodolphus Lestrange taught him a spell that mimicked birthing contractions in its victim. Harry was glad that the man couldn’t demonstrate the effects of the spell as Harry wasn’t sure he’d be safe if the man was able to properly teach him.

“Just don’t use it on anyone who is pregnant as it might induce labour,” warned Rabastan Lestrange after Lucius confirmed that Harry had the proper stance and wand movement. “Unless that’s the outcome you’re hoping for.”

“I don’t plan to use it on anyone,” Harry asserted. These men might be keen on corrupting Harry, but that didn’t mean he had to use his new knowledge against anyone… except maybe Voldemort. Harry thought it would be some great cosmic joke if he managed to defeat the dark lord using a curse one of his servants taught him.

“You know, this was Belly’s favourite curse before she mastered the cruciatus curse,” Rodolphus reminisced, sounding fond. It took Harry a moment to realize that ‘Belly’ was Bellatrix. He would have laughed at the nickname if he didn’t have such a vivid mental image of the woman cursing a bunch of men to feel the pain of labour and then cackling at their misery.

As promised, Rodolphus did teach Harry two defense spells. Since the curse did not have a counter, Lestrange taught Harry a spell that would help alleviate pain. Harry found it useful as it could be used against headaches, though it lacked the potency a potion would have. For the second spell, Lestrange taught him a manticore repelling charm. Harry did not think it would come in that handy, but he still made an effort to learn it.

Inspired by Lestrange choosing one of his wife’s favourite spell, Lucius decided to review a spell that had amused Draco as a child, long before he had attended Hogwarts.

“I’m sure you must have at least seen the draconifor spell,” Lucius stated. Harry vaguely remembered it from his third year. “Normally the dragons are small, but you could increase their size for a more… spectacular effect.”

Lucius was more precise in his directions and stressed the importance of the wand movements. Harry thought the man was a tad frustrated that he couldn’t directly correct Harry’s stance. It would have been easier if the man could manhandle Harry into the correct position. Eventually Lucius was satisfied that Harry would be able to perform the magic once he had his wand.

“If you also change the colours of the dragons, you can keep kids entertained for hours,” Lucius suggested. Harry didn’t know when he would be expected to entertain young children for hours but didn’t say so.  It was clear to Harry that Lucius was recalling happier days. Harry could almost picture Lucius transfiguring random objects in his son’s room into dragons that pranced about. Just before Draco got bored, Lucius would make them increasingly bigger.

“Did Draco also have dragon footy pajamas?” wondered Harry. He was mentally picturing a young Draco dressed as a dragon and chasing his father’s transfigured dragons around the room.

Before Lucius could answer him, the door at the end of the hallway opened. The guards came through passing out the prisoners’ dinner. Harry was depressed to see it was the same bland meal they always got but elected not to skip it.

The door at the end of the hall opened a second time, but Harry was busy poking at the mystery meat, so he didn’t register the significance until Burke leaned against the bars of his cell and spoke.

“How’s your meal?” smirked Burke, knowing Harry found it to be subpar.

“Not as salty as you,” snarked Harry, before he consciously thought about it. His stomach turned as he looked up at Burke and was reminded of what the man had done to him. Harry stopped eating in fear he’d throw up just at the sight of the man.

Burke no longer looked amused. Harry felt his hands start to tremble as he watched Burke, so he clenched them on the meal tray hoping Burke wouldn’t notice the impact his presence had. Harry could still hear the other guards passing out the meals further down the hall, but that didn’t mean they would stop Burke if he wanted to hurt him. After all, Wiblin helped Burke give Harry the prison tattoo.

“You’ll want to watch it, Potter,” warned Burke. “You might think you’re the big man just because you’re friends with the minister, but while you’re in here, you’re mine.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Harry struggled to pick something to address first.

“What?” he said, blinking owlishly.

“You think I don’t know that you went crying to the minister about your well-deserved tattoo?” Burke sneered. “Did you think you would get me fired? Well boy, I have news for you. It doesn’t matter who you know, or how much money you have, it means nothing in Azkaban.”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Harry. Then, just to spite Burke, he added, “the minister and I had more important things to discuss than you.”

Burke gave Harry a look so foul that not even the Durseleys could hope to match it. Harry knew it wasn’t smart to antagonize the man. Burke had already shown he was willing to hurt Harry. He wouldn’t be satisfied until Harry was broken and miserable. But there was a part of Harry that couldn’t back down even if it was the healthiest, safest option. He hadn’t done so for uncle Vernon, aunt Petunia, or Dudley. Snape had tried with limited success. Hell, even Voldemort would be able to tell Burke it took a lot more to keep Harry down. So, while Harry stared at Burke’s blotchy face, he determined that this pathetic man would not be the one to break him.

“Don’t think you’re so special, Potter. The minister doesn’t care about _you_. He is only worried about his own image,” sneered Burke.

“I’m well aware,” Harry said, trying to sound disinterested.

“You’re not special,” Burke pressed as if repeating it would somehow hurt Harry more.

“I’m aware,” Harry parroted back. Usually when his uncle said much the same to him, Vernon was satisfied to hear Harry agree. When Harry was younger, he had tried sticking up for himself, but that only lead to more chores or being sent to his cupboard. Eventually Harry discovered that if he agreed with Vernon then the man would decide he’d filled his daily quota of making Harry miserable. Harry wondered if the same strategy might work with Burke. In a lot of ways Burke reminded him of Vernon; they both had the same misplaced sense of superiority. Unlike Vernon, Burke wasn’t satisfied with Harry’s insincere agreement. Instead it seemed to pull all the air out of Burke’s sails, which pissed him off more.

“And the wizarding world is catching on,” Burke continued. “They know their supposed golden boy is tarnished. Why, you’re practically as dark as you-know-who.”

Perhaps Burke wasn’t too far off the mark, because a dark part of Harry very much wished that one of the surrounding death eaters would find a way to relay that comment back to Voldemort. Someone who went by the moniker “dark lord” would likely take offense to such a bold claim, and consequently try to prove who the darker wizard was by using Burke as target practice.

“I imagine your parents would be so disappointed,” Burke continued.

“Watch it,” Harry warned. He could not pretend to be unaffected if the man tried to sully the name of his parents. Unfortunately, Burke caught on to this.

“Yes, they would be so disappointed. They must have had such high hopes for you if they were willing to die protecting you. So misguided in retrospect,” taunted Burke. “I wonder if they’d think it was all worth it. If they could see you now, they’d know their lives were squandered. Why I think your mum would even-”

“And I think you should stop talking about my mum,” Harry warned.

“Oh! Mummy issues? I would have guessed you had daddy issues. Perhaps it’s both?” taunted Burke.

“Speaking from experience?” countered Harry.

“No,” Burke muttered, annoyed with Harry’s constant talkback. “Tell me how it works. Which motherly type is attractive? Someone to coddle you? Or, do you like it when they nag you? Is that why you cursed Lestrange? Did she remind you of mummy? Hoped she’d spank her naughty boy for using spells he shouldn’t know? I bet you would have loved-”

“Shut your mouth before something happens to it,” threatened Harry. His mum and Bellatrix were nothing alike, and he found it vile to even compare the two.

“Oh, what are you going to do to me, Potter?” laughed Burke. “You’re trapped in a cell. I still have my wand. Please give me an excuse to use it.”

Burke might think he was safe, but Harry was starting to feel the same way he had right before he blew up aunt Marge. The magic felt particularly potent given that Burke’s insults played upon in his negative feelings towards Bellatrix. Unfortunately, when Harry tried to actively reach for it, his magic seemed to slip out of his grasp.

The tension between the two of them was broken by one of the guards calling out to Burke from the end of the hall. They had finished handing out the meals on this floor and were ready to move on. Burke frowned in their direction, clearly unwilling to leave.

“You’d best get back to your job. At least while you still have one. You know, since my friend, the minister, is unhappy with you,” it was an empty threat, but Harry was satisfied that Burke actually looked worried for a moment.

“Oh, I’ll leave. Since I can do that. I can leave whenever I want. I’m a free man, unlike you who isn’t getting out of here. Ever,” Burke remarked as he left his spot near Harry’s cell and joined his coworkers. Harry stewed in his anger as he listened to Burke’s footsteps move down the hall. Harry stared blankly at where Burke had stood, imagining what could have happened if he’d been able to do wandless magic. It was only when the hallway door closed behind the guards that Harry snapped out of it.

“Ugh! That man is such a... a...,” Harry struggled to find a word that was insulting enough for an idiot like Burke. He couldn’t find one that properly articulated his feelings about the man, so he settled for something Dudley and his cronies used, “fart-knocker!”

“A what?” yelled Mulciber before he burst into laughter.

Harry blushed. “Just something my cousin says,” he mumbled.

“Fart-knocker,” howled Mulciber, while the Lestrange brothers giggled. “I have to use that some time.”

“Er, I think it’s a muggle thing,” warned Harry.

“Doesn’t matter,” responded Mulciber. “That’s gold.”

“It’s hardly witty,” muttered Lucius as he rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t be such a sad sack,” was the response. “Don’t pay him any mind, Potter. Lucius is too _classy_ to use any of the good insults.”

“Or, you’re not intelligent enough to grasp the brilliance of any verbal abuse I send your way,” came the haughty response from Lucius. Despite the words, Harry thought the two men were good naturedly teasing each other... mostly.

“Alright then,” Mulciber issued a challenge. “You dazzle us with your witty repertoire. What’s your best insult?”

Lucius sprouted off some Shakespearean-sounding insults, to which Crabbe moaned “I don’t even know what that means.” It set off the other men to suggest their favourite slurs to help improve Lucius’ name-calling skills. Privately, Harry rather liked Lucius’ suggestions and made a mental note to call someone a ‘bawdy growth’, a ‘clump of foul larvae’, or an ‘ill-bred merrow’ at some point in the future.

“If you want to keep it high-brow, just call them peasants,” suggested Nott.

“I say stick to classics like ‘wanker’ and ‘git’,” suggested Avery.

“It doesn’t have the same kick though, does it? Potter, what else you got for us?” asked Mulciber. Harry ran through uncle Vernon’s more creative insults as well as the ones he picked up from the Weasley brothers over the years. All in all, the men spent close to forty minutes calling out any insult that came to mind. Harry used Burke as inspiration to come up with increasingly vulgar names.

The rest of the evening was spent talking about inane topics. Some of the death eaters spoke about the jobs they had prior to their arrest. They had asked him what profession he planned to pursue, but Harry he hadn’t thought of a backup plan since realizing that being an auror was no longer feasible. Lucius observed that Harry had enough money that he probably didn’t need to work if he didn’t want to. Both Lucius and Nott were independently wealthy, so they had spent their time schmoozing people in power in order to influence them. They found it to be quite satisfactory.

Harry thought it was sweet that Crabbe mostly told stories about his son, though it was clear that the man thought his son to be far more intelligent than he was. Harry didn’t burst his bubble. Since a lot of Crabbe’s stories inevitably included his son’s closest friends, Lucius jumped in to talk about Draco as well. While Lucius likewise spoke highly of his son, he seemed more aware of Draco’s flaws, so Harry didn’t question the validity of each tale like he had with Crabbe.

Harry found out that Draco’s mother had bought him dragon footy pajamas afterall. Being the spoiled brat that he is, Draco had pulled a tantrum because he wanted puffskein pajamas instead. Narcissa had searched five stores the next day until she found a puffskein version. Draco had ended up wearing both sets until he outgrew them. Harry told himself that his appreciation for the story was because he could now tease Draco about his love for puffskeins. It had nothing to do with how endearing he assumed a young Draco looked in footy pajamas.

Both Lucius and Crabbe shared stories about the summer hijinks their sons got up to. As Harry tried to fall asleep that night, he kept wondering if he would have been part of the story had he accepted Draco’s friendship in their first year at Hogwarts. Harry didn’t regret sticking up for Ron, but he still spent the night playing the “what if” game. It kept him up longer than it should have.

In the morning, the other prisoners remarked that they had a good night’s sleep. After some speculation, Nott realized it was because the dementors hadn’t done their nightly patrol. While the other prisoners celebrated the reprieve, Harry couldn’t help but worry about it. After their initial interest in him, it probably wouldn’t bode well if they had decided to start avoiding him.

Harry’s other problem was that his general body order really was becoming quite rank. Azkaban apparently didn’t believe in deodorant. Probably because it was too cold to work up a proper sweat.

“Uh! This is how Snape must feel every day,” Harry complained as he ran his hand through his greasy hair. Even though the Lestrange brothers and Mulciber couldn’t see him, they must have gotten a sense of what he was referring to as they laughed at his comment. Lucius tried to explain that Snape’s potions work messed with his hair, but Harry didn’t buy it. If that were the case, Slughorn would also be a greasy mess.

Harry used the bar of soap in his cell to at least wash his face. He didn’t have a mirror, but he could feel some pimples popping up due to lack of hygiene and the stress of being sent to Azkaban. He was rather glad that his breakfast that morning came with a new bar of soap, even if it was about the same size as the bars provided in muggle hotel rooms.

Perhaps inspired by his comment about Snape, the men decided Harry should start today’s lessons with potions. Since Crabbe had shown he was quite knowledgeable in the subject, Harry decided to ask him some fundamental questions. He was slightly embarrassed when the others seemed surprised that Harry didn’t already know the more essential aspects of potion making. Harry addressed this embarrassment by venting about Snape’s (lack of) teaching style. His tirade was eventually interrupted by Lestrange commenting that Harry sounded like Bellatrix when she bitches about Snape. Harry pouted and decided not to comment further.

“Attention! Attention!” yelled one of the guards, interrupting the potions review. The man followed up with a series of banging noises. It sounded as if someone was passing a metal bar across the cell’s bars. The noise grew louder as the guard came closer to Harry’s cell. He didn’t pause as he continued down the hallway, but he was walking slow enough that Harry realized the noise came from the man’s wand rather than a physical tool. Harry was grateful that the guards didn’t carry metal batons, like the muggle police had, despite knowing their wands were capable of just as much damage.

Harry shouldn’t have been surprised that Burke was back. He was beginning to think the man must live in Azkaban since he was always there.

“Rubba dub dub,” Burke smirked, “too many convicts in a tub.”

Harry felt his stomach drop as his cell door suddenly opened. He was grimy enough that a shower was long overdue. However, all the other prisoners’ cells were also open. It made him nervous.

“Join the line, Potter,” Burke ordered. Harry weighed the pros and cons of refusing. As nice as the death eaters had been, Harry wasn’t sure if that would last once they could reach him. Harry was especially nervous as he could now see the Lestrange brothers. In fact, most of the men he could see were looking at him curiously now that they could finally observe him. It was a nerve-wracking experience. With a deep breath, Harry moved out of his cell.

It was clear that he was expected to line up with the other men in the hallway, so he filed in between Lucius and Nott. Nott gave Harry’s shoulders a squeeze, and it reminded him of Sirius’ preferred form of affection. It calmed Harry as he was beginning to believe that they wouldn’t harm him even though they could reach him now. Burke narrowed his eyes as he observed them. He too came to the same conclusion as Harry, though he was less happy about it.

“Move,” ordered the guard at the end of the hallway. The prisoners started shuffling forward in a single file. They headed in the opposite direction from where Harry entered this wing of the prison.

Harry counted four guards. They were all watching the prisoners carefully, wands at the ready. As Harry neared the end of the hallway, he noticed a couple of dementors near by. They were prevented from reaching the prisoners due to Wiblin’s Patronus. Harry deducted that the presence of the dementors was what prevented the prisoners from attempting to overpower the guards with their higher numbers.

The hallway lead to a changing room. It looked like the quidditch locker rooms, though there were no actual lockers. Instead the prisoners were expected to place their shoes along the wall, while their dirty clothes were dumped into one communal hamper.

The other prisoners didn’t even hesitate to remove their clothes. Public showers had become common practice for them. Both Lucius and Nott moved leisurely as they matched Harry’s slow pace. He was reluctant to remove his clothes as he noticed many of the prisoners were still giving him curious looks. Harry tried not to peek at anyone, but the room quickly filled with naked men. He couldn’t avoid having his eyes land on someone’s naked arse. Or their Azkaban tattoo. The latter pained him as it reminded him of his own. Harry was surprised that not all prisoners had their tattoo on their neck. The ones that didn’t seems to already have some other tattoo in the place where their Azkaban number would have gone. Instead, this tag was placed on their chest or arms.

As Lucius and Nott were the only prisoners he’d seen during the last few days, Harry felt the most comfortable around them – even naked. He couldn’t help but observe that both men still looked relatively healthy. Lucius wasn’t sporting a six-pack, but his chest was surprisingly toned. Harry tried not to dwell on it as it felt icky to notice that about Draco’s father. Though Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Draco was similarly built.

“Don’t be shy, Potter,” Burke called out from his spot at the door. When Harry looked back at the man, he noticed Burke’s wand and eyes were squarely on Harry. “If you dally here, there won’t be any hot water left.”

With reluctance, Harry removed his shirt and placed it in the hamper. As he did, a very naked Mulciber tossed in his pants and winked at Harry. Harry tried not to notice exactly how much hair was on the man (it was a lot). It helped when he removed his glasses and placed them on a nearby bench. He hoped Burke didn’t break them.

The temperature in the changing room was cold and Harry shivered once fully undressed. The temperature marginally rose once Harry moved into the shower area. He was also pleased to note that there were waist-high stalls set up around the room. There were no curtains, so Harry had to try extra hard not to notice anyone’s dangly bits no matter how much they were all just wagging freely in the room. Harry strategically placed his hands over his dick to keep his modesty and hoped the half-walls of the stall would prevent most from taking a peak. Harry briskly walked over to a stall. Lucius and Nott chose the stalls on either side of him. There were no assigned shower stalls, so Harry knew they purposely picked them to remain close to him.

The water was only a notch above what Harry would call warm, but there was no way for him to adjust the temperature. He took a minute to just enjoy the feeling of water pouring over his body, before he reached for the only soap dispenser attached to the stall. Harry felt weird using the same soap on his hair and body, but it was better than nothing.

Harry was rinsing the surprisingly odorless suds from him hair, when he heard a “Potter” spoken behind him.

“Move along Jugson,” said Lucius in a tone that was classic Malfoy superiority. The man didn’t even bother turning around to address Jugson when he spoke.

“I would if you’d bothered to show Potter his place,” responded Jugson. “What would the dark lord say if he knew you were passing up an opportunity to-”

“Bold of you to assume you know what the dark lord wants,” Lucius interrupted.

Jugson paused but didn’t move away. “Look, Burke will give me some perks if I mess the kid up. It’s not like we should be mollycoddling him considering everything,” Jugson said as he tried a new tactic.

“You’re Burke’s lapdog now?” Nott butted in as he scrubbed at his armpit. It was hardly a threatening stance, but it gave Jugson reason to pause. He looked between the two men on either side of Harry as it became clear that anyone who wanted to mess with Harry would have to go through them first.

“I’d be doing it for me,” insisted Jugson who wasn’t ready to give up just yet. “Any perks Burke might give me would just be an added benefit.”

Nott snorted and said “Burke’s idea of a perk is just an extra serving of that crap they call a meal around here. It’s hardly worth the trouble you’ll face.”

“There won’t be trouble. That’s the point. The guards won’t stop me from beating the wanker like he deserves,” insisted Jugson. He was losing his patience.

“How smallminded of you,” Lucius sneered in true Malfoy fashion. “You’re overlooking the fact that others far more important than you or Burke have already staked their claim on the boy.”

“You think I fear Dumbledore?” asked Jugson. “What can he do to me while I’m in here?”

“Not Dumbledore, your blithering idiot,” said Lucius. “The dark lord has staked his claim on the boy.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I softened him up for him,” replied Jugson, though he looked worried. “He’d reward me.”

“He’d want to decide for himself what happens to the boy,” Lucius disagreed. “He’d see your actions as disrespectful and presumptuous.”

“Plus, if you got the pleasure of torturing Potter while the dark lord is denied...” Nott trailed off as he let Jugson picture whatever he wanted as the negative consequence.

“Fine!” Jugson snapped. “But if the dark lord questions why the boy left here with nary a scratch, I’ll be the first to point to you.” Neither Lucius nor Nott seemed particularly worried.

All three of them watched Jugson walk away. Harry would have been relieved if it didn’t mean he got a good look at the man’s hairy arse. Even without his glasses, Harry could tell it was an unpleasant sight.

“You’d best finish washing up,” Lucius advised. “The hot water won’t last much longer.”

Harry scrubbed as fast as he could without it being too obvious that he was rushing. He was scared that another man would soon come up to him with new threats. He didn’t know if Lucius and Nott’s threat of Voldemort’s displeasure would work on everyone. Harry was pretty sure it was just a ploy on the men’s part to keep him physically safe. “Thanks,” he said quietly to both men.

“If it was my underage son in this shithole, I would hope someone would do the same,” Nott responded.

Lucius didn’t respond as he was too busy hissing and jumping back from shower. Harry felt the water temperature in his stall suddenly drop a second later. Harry tried to quickly rinse off the remaining soap on his body as the water was quickly becoming ice cold.

“Fucking Jugson distracting us during the only time we get any warmth,” Lucius grumbled. Harry figured the man must be upset if he was resorting to crude swear words instead of the more Shakespearean ones he claimed signified his cleverness. Despite Lucius pointing the finger at Jugson, Harry knew his own reluctance to undress was what really delayed them.

Just like when they entered the showers, Lucius and Nott stuck close to Harry as they left. He once again tried to keep his focus at eye-level and hoped the other prisoners were giving him the same courtesy. The room’s temperature quickly dropped with the lack of warm water flowing. Consequently, goosebumps covered Harry’s body. Harry already didn’t want the other men to see him naked, but he especially didn’t want it to happen when he was experiencing shrinkage due to the cold. Harry once again strategically placed his hands in front of him as he walked, and desperately looked for a towel.

Harry realized no towel would be provided as he walked pass the entryway leading back to the changing room. Instead a blast of too-hot air surrounded him. Almost instantly the water on his person evaporated. It felt similar to one of those muggle hand dryers, but much more efficient. When Harry reluctantly moved one hand from his groin to touch his hair, he noticed it was dry too.

New clean uniforms were laid out on the benches. Given the magical resizing of the clothes, Harry assumed he could grab any pair and gratefully walked towards the set closest to where he left his glasses. Harry realized one downside of interchangeable clothes was that his old pair of pants weren’t returned to him freshly laundered. Instead he had a thin pair of tighty-whities. A quick glance at Lucius revealed the man had put on a matching pair. As he slipped his on, Harry tried not to think about how many prisoners wore that specific pair of pants previously. He would have skipped them but in Azkaban, every thin layer counted.

Harry was quick to slip on the trousers next. It might have been his imagination, but he felt like too many eyes were watching him. It became apparent that at least one set of unwanted eyes were focused on him when a voice spoke from directly behind him.

“Enjoy your shower, Potter?”

Harry whipped around to see Burke. The man frowned as his eyes swept over Harry’s uncovered and unblemished chest. It wasn’t hard to guess that the man was looking for any damage Jugson might have caused.

“It was fine,” Harry replied as his hands clenched his shirt. He wanted to put it on, especially as Burke’s eyes focused on Harry’s tattoo. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t trust Burke enough to have his vision obscured even for a few seconds.

“You seem to come out of it unmolested. I feared that a bunch of criminals who haven’t gotten off in ages would not be able to resist a tasty morsel like you,” Burke stated crudely. Despite his words, Harry could tell the man was more disappointed than worried.

“We’re not so desperate that we can’t keep our hands off a child,” answered Nott.

“This doesn’t concern you, Nott,” Burke warned.

“It rather does when you insinuate things about my character,” Nott countered.

“Watch it, Nott. It’d be a shame to inform your judicial-wizard that you could not make your date because you were in solitary confinement,” threaten Burke. Nott’s sneer became more pronounced, but he didn’t reply. Harry was glad that the man remained close to them.

Burke glanced back towards the showers. There weren’t that many prisoners left given that the water was rather cold by now. Jugson still seemed to be in the shower area.

“Are you sure you’re clean enough, Potter? You might want to savour this opportunity” Burke said. Given that Burke hadn’t seen Jugson’s confrontation with Lucius and Nott, he had no way to know if Harry remained unharmed because of the amount of witnesses previously in the shower area.

“I’m good,” Harry stated. At Burke’s narrowed eyes, he added “it’s a bit too cold now anyway.”

“Seems Jugson agrees with the boy,” stated Lucius. As one, they turned to watch Jugson leave the shower area. Unlike Harry, he didn’t seem bothered by his nakedness and walk casually around the room until he found one of the remaining uniforms.

“Well,” Burke frowned. “Perhaps if you’re good, I can arrange to let you into the showers early. You know, as an incentive.”

Harry figured the man was probably planning how he could still enact his Jugson plan. Harry assumed that regardless of his own behaviour, Burke would find a way to get Harry into the showers early. Jugson would probably be the only other prisoner that was rewarded for so-called good behaviour.

“Wanker,” muttered Nott as he came to the same conclusion as Harry. Burke heard him.

“You know, I think you’re angling for a stay in solitary after all, Nott,” said Burke.

“What for?” asked Harry. He knew it was because Nott was sticking up for him. Harry didn’t think Nott deserve Burke’s pettiness. He tried to bring Burke’s focus back on him even if it made Harry’s stomach queasy to do so.

“Disorderly conduct,” Burke shrugged. It was a laughable excuse given that Burke encouraged Jugson to act disorderly just a few minutes ago.

“That’s bullshit!” exclaimed Harry.

“Perhaps you also want to stay in solitary,” said Burke. He tilted his head as he surveyed Harry, and all three men could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Burke was clearly hatching a new plan to get to Harry away from prying eyes.

“Do you really want the added criticism right now? You know my judicial-wizard will push back hard against any attempts to deny his visitations,” Nott cautioned. “And I doubt the minister will be too happy if Potter is unavailable the next time he visits due to made-up offenses.”

“You can’t threaten me,” seethed Burke.

“Just a cautionary suggestion,” responded Nott with forced levity. “Given the criticism the ministry is under, you don’t want to be the person to add fuel to the fire.”

Burke seemed to stew for a moment. Harry was sure the man was going to do something drastic, but to his surprise, Burke just hissed “get in line! Your shower time is over!”

As Burke stomped angrily away, Harry quickly finished getting dressed. He followed Lucius and Nott to collect their shoes before joining the other prisoners in line. While there were still some stragglers, most prisoners where in line chatting quietly to each other. Harry once again stood between Lucius and Nott. He watched Lucius run his fingers through his hair as he tried to get out the tangles. Apparently, Azkaban didn’t believe in hair brushes. Harry knew his hair was bound to be a mess.

“Do you think Burke will send us to solitary?” Harry whispered to Nott.

“Unlikely... at least not today. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got a warning over your tattoo. He’ll have to be careful about his actions for awhile,” answered Nott.

Before Harry could respond, he heard a surprised “Neville?”. Harry’s heart stuttered. He feared that the ministry had decided to arrest Neville after all. He looked around the room in panic, but instead of seeing his fellow Gryffindor, Harry spotted Stan Shunpike. The man had paused in the middle of getting dressed to stare at Harry in shock.

“Oh, hi Stan,” Harry said as he breathed a sigh of relief that Neville wasn’t in here with him. Harry couldn’t imagine how Neville would fare if faced with Burke’s tender mercies.

“What are you doing here?” Stan asked. Since he wasn’t yet fully dressed, Harry got a good look at his forearm. There was no dark mark.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Harry gestured toward Stan’s forearm.

“Don’t tell me they arrested _you_ for death eater activity,” Stan sounded incredulous at the thought. The man knew who Harry was even if he insisted on calling Harry ‘Neville’.

“Er, no,” Harry said embarrassed because he was technically guilty of the crime he was arrested for. “I just meant that the ministry is filled with morons.”

“Stop dallying and get in line,” Burke called from his place at the front of the line. He was still watching Harry and didn’t look pleased that yet another prisoner was acting friendly towards him. Stan quickly put on his shirt. He looked like he wanted to say more to Harry, but ultimately shrugged and scurried away to collect his shoes before joining the line.

When Harry turned back around, Lucius was watching him with a raised eyebrow. The man clearly wanted to ask what that whole scene was about, but the guards started moving them back towards the cells.

The prisoners filed out of the changing room and back into their cells in an orderly fashion. Harry was once again surprised at how docile the most dangerous of Azkaban’s prisoners were being. It made sense given there were dementors nearby, ready to swoop in as soon as the guards dropped their spell. Still, Harry found it unsettling. Perhaps because he too walked back into his cell and watched the door close without even thinking of making a break for it.

No one spoke while the guards were still in the hallway. Burke made the “I’m watching you” hand gesture as he passed Harry’s cell. In return, Harry exaggerated his eyeroll and smirked when Burke frowned. He was glad the man was too busy watching Harry’s expression to notice that his hands were trembling.

“So, _Neville_. What was that about?” asked Lucius once the guards had moved on.

Harry snorted. “Well, the summer before my third year, I accidentally blew up my uncle’s sister,” Harry stated and was amused by the intrigued expressions on Lucius’ and Nott’s faces. Nott even looked impressed until Harry clarified he meant blowing her up like a balloon and not into little pieces. Still, he complimented Harry’s fast thinking in using an alias when he went on the run.

“You might want to use a fake name next time,” he advised.

“Nah, use Burke’s name,” suggested Mulciber from his cell. “That way, he’ll get the blame for all the bad things you do.”

The other prisoners were interested in what other hijinks Harry had gotten into over the years. He didn’t want to mention anything that might still get him or his friends in trouble. He also thought it best to steer clear of anything that directly involved Voldemort. He settled on telling them about the time in first year when Draco had caught him out after curfew. Only when he went to tattle on them, McGonagall ended up giving him detention as well.

“I recall that. Draco moaned about it in his letters home. He was quite upset with you in particular,” Lucius reminisced with a fond smile.

“Did he write about me often?” wondered Harry. Harry felt his cheeks heat up immediately and hoped that Azkaban’s poor lighting hid it. Lucius still have him a knowing look.

“You do have a way of catching my son’s attention like no other,” Lucius said, smirking slightly. Harry’s blush deepened and he averted his eyes. Draco had a similar effect on Harry. Draco mostly inspired negative emotions, but Harry couldn’t deny that he paid more attention to him than any other student he had confrontations with. Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen were prats, but Harry didn’t dwell on his encounters with them. Harry _did_ recount his interactions with Draco over and over in his head. And Draco just kept taking up more and more space as Harry tried to figure out what he was up to this year. Worry slowly overtook anger as the primary emotion attached to his rival. As of late, Draco had looked more and more tired and stressed. He even stopped putting effort into his looks, which was a warning bell to anyone that knew him. Of course, coming to that realization had made Harry confront the fact that he’d always thought of Draco as attractive. He still was, even with bags under his eyes. Draco looked like he could use a good night’s sleep, but that particular line of thinking was probably best to follow when Harry wasn’t sitting in front of Draco’s father.

“Why were you out after curfew?” Nott asked as he took pity on Harry’s flustered appearance.

“Er, there was a dragon egg...” Harry wondered how he could explain without mentioning Hagrid. He wasn’t sure if Hagrid could still get in trouble after all these years, but he didn’t want to chance it. Luckily, he didn’t have to elaborate since the hall door swung open and a guard called out “Nott, your judicial-wizard is here.”

Harry paced nervously as soon as Nott disappeared. Lucius tried to distract him by reviewing spells, but Harry wasn’t able to focus. He kept wondering if Nott’s judicial-wizard would agree to take him on as a client. By the time Nott was returned to his cell, Harry was a nervous wreck.

“Hale will be happy to represent you,” he informed Harry. “He wanted me to inform you that he was heading straight to the ministry to start the process.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “How long – I mean, when would I meet with him?”

“Depends on how much the ministry tries to stall him,” Nott said honestly. “But don’t worry. He won’t back down from the minister himself.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. It was a huge relief. He felt like things were finally moving forward.

“He also agreed to send a certain guard a little present...” Nott smirked. “I might have mentioned that Burke deserved a nice bouquet of Shy Tortoise Hyacinth. It should arrive with his morning post.”

Harry could picture Burke opening the package and getting dosed by the smelly plant. “Albert Nott,” he smiled. “You are a wonderful, wonderful man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter. I haven’t abandoned this story, but I can’t make any promises about when I’ll update it. I wanted to thank everyone who has been leaving encouragement. To make up for the delay, this chapter is longer and features naked Harry... though sadly there isn’t a matching naked Draco (is Lucius close enough?).


	8. A Mark Against the Ministry

The next several days were blissfully Burke-free. It was possible that the man had previously scheduled these days off, but the prisoners all assumed it was because of Albert’s gift. Harry smiled whenever he pictured Burke opening the package and getting dosed by an aggravated plant.

Harry spent these days reviewing coursework with the death eaters. The Lestrange brothers and Mulciber seemed impressed with how quickly Harry picked up all of the defense against the dark arts spells, and consequently the dark arts. Harry wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was finding the dark arts lessons morbidly interesting. He no longer protested learning dark spells, and even asked questions to ensure he had a good grasp of what he was learning. Mulciber kept saying Harry was some sort of prodigy. Harry thought it was ridiculous but felt oddly flattered all the same.

Harry had the most trouble with his new subjects. Alchemy was interesting but Albert and Harry found themselves limited. Harry had a hard time memorizing formulas and working through equations without the ability to take notes. Harry could tell Albert was frustrated. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was letting the man down and felt horrible about it.

Ancient studies were more interesting than Harry expected them to be. The problems Harry had in those lessons arose whenever the Lestrange brothers focused on wizard superiority. Harry felt the need to rebel against that on principle. These lessons inevitably devolved into debates. Harry grew frustrated that all his tutors supported each other during these arguments.

“Harry,” Lucius said in a tone that was meant to placate him, “it’s hard to believe in the good of muggles when most of our grandparents actually lived through decades of witch hunts.”

“Of course, towards the end, they were mostly killing their own,” Lestrange laughed from the cell next to Harry. Harry felt a little sick at the thought regardless of who the victims were.

“They don’t do that any more,” he tried to reason.

“Because they no longer believe in witches and wizards. If they did, they would start burning us at the stake again,” stated Albert.

“Some, maybe,” Harry conceded because he knew better than any of them what muggles who feared wizards were capable of. Harry was pretty sure that the Dursleys were unhappy they couldn’t pawn Harry off on a priest and be done with him. “But there are many more that are decent people,” he insisted. Hermione’s parents would never just stand by if someone tried to burn or drown her just for being a witch.

Unfortunately, Harry never seemed to change their minds. Neither did they succeeded in changing Harry’s mind. So, while Harry found the lessons initially intriguing, they inevitably ended in the same arguments with both sides frustrated.

The other subjects were similar to Harry’s experiences at Hogwarts. Someone would go over the theory, and if there was an incantation, Albert or Lucius would demonstrate the wand movements. The major difference was that these lessons moved quickly. Harry didn’t have to wait for an entire class to master the spell before moving on. And having multiple tutors meant that when Harry got stuck on the theory, another man would jump in to try explaining it in a different way. Harry was worried that he was learning _too much_ and wouldn’t be able to retain all the information. When Harry expressed these concerns, Lucius decided that they would hold random pop quizzes. Thus far, the men were pleased that Harry was remembering a good portion of the lessons. On the rare occasion that he got stuck, someone would jump in to review the parts that gave him trouble. By the end of his third full day of lesson, Harry was itching for his wand. He hadn’t been this excited about magic since he’d learnt he was a wizard.

The only downside to these days were the increased visits from the dementors. Two dementors were constantly popping by to visit Harry and ask questions. One dementor introduced himself. To Harry, his name sounded like Ash-er-rath. He was the first dementor Harry had met in Azkaban. He introduced his mate as Ish-an-ders. Their interest still made Harry nervous, but he was keenly aware of Crabbe’s pitiful whimpers next door, so he willingly answered their questions. The questions seemed random and Harry couldn’t figure out why they would want to know things like his favourite colour or food. It was obvious they weren’t asking just to get to know Harry, but he couldn’t tell how knowing Harry had a weakness for treacle tart would provide any insight into whatever was going on. They had yet to explain to Harry why they found him so interesting.

“Well what’s your favourite colour?” Harry asked Asherath. He thought perhaps if he learnt their answers to the questions, he might be able to figure out what they wanted from him.

“We do not see colours like humans do,” answered Asherath, “I believe the term you use is colourblind.”

“We do see blue. I rather like the colour blue,” added Ishanders.

“I prefer the white of a soul,” stated Asherath. “Do you see all human colours?”

“Yes,” answered Harry, slightly perturbed. And that was the problem with Harry asking them questions in turn. It would unavoidably lead back to discussing souls. When Harry had stupidly asked them what their favourite food was, he was reminded that they only ate one thing: souls. When Ishanders added “the younger the better,” Harry decided he would stop asking them questions. He didn’t want to know.

Harry quickly fell into a routine. Lucius would start their morning with a pop quiz. If Harry remembered a spell that he had covered earlier in the year, he would tell them so they could review the theory and practice the wand movements. Similarly, if Harry remembered a potion he had worked on, or a magical creature he covered in class, that would be reviewed before any new content was covered. Most of the day was spent on Harry’s lessons. Harry would call it a day when he started to feel overwhelmed. His tutors usually respected this, but occasionally Lucius or Albert would push him to keep going. Harry wondered if their sons felt just as much pressure to live up to their expectations.

Evenings were spent casually conversing. Occasionally someone would ask Harry about his life, but often the men seemed inclined to share details about their lives. Harry tended to pay more attention whenever Lucius or Crabbe talked about their sons. Harry thought it was because he knew Draco and Vincent, though both Lucius and Albert noticed Harry perked up more whenever Draco was mentioned. Harry became suspicious when Albert started asking Lucius questions about Draco, successfully steering the conversation back to Harry’s rival. It seemed especially odd given that Albert rarely talked about his own son. Whenever Harry asked a question about Theodore, Albert would merely say something along the lines of his son was a smart and capable boy. It left Harry with the impression that Albert didn’t spend much time with his son. It was odd given how much fatherly interest Albert was showing Harry.

Harry wouldn’t say his stay in Azkaban was comfortable, but he grew accustomed to the easy comradery he had with his fellow prisoners. He even became desensitized to having dementors constantly stop by and observe him. By the time Harry was herded into the showers again, he wasn’t as reluctant to disrobe. It helped that Burke wasn’t leering at him.

Without Burke and Jugson to distract him, Harry was more aware of his surroundings. He was shocked when he realized that many of the men were taking the opportunity to masturbate while the water would wash away the aftermath. Harry didn’t know how they could be comfortable enough to do that in a room full of people. Even if Harry had been alone, he wasn’t confident he would be able to rub one out. Azkaban’s general atmosphere had dulled his sex drive. He was thankful that neither Lucius nor Albert were horny enough to do anything while Harry had a clear view of them.

Lucius once again complained that the water turned cold far too fast. The man was used to indulging in long hot showers, so Azkaban’s accommodations would never compare. Harry was almost thankful that it hadn’t lasted any longer, because he had noticed that Rodolphus was indulging in a little self-love and that was something Harry didn’t need to stick around to hear.

“I need a shave,” remarked Albert as he ran his hand along his chin. He patted Harry’s shoulder and told him “stick close to Lucius,” before he walked away. Harry watched him move towards a small line up of prisoners that were waiting for a guard to spell away any unwanted facial hair.

“Er, why don’t you need a shave?” Harry asked Lucius as he realized the man was as cleanshaven as ever.

“I use a potion that prevents hair growth,” Lucius blinked in surprise. “It only works for 18 months at a time, but it hasn’t worn off yet.”

It occurred to Harry that the man probably thought Harry had done the same given he barely had any facial hair to speak of. “Oh,” Harry blushed.

“Don’t worry, Potter,” said Mulciber as he saddled up to them, thankfully fully dressed. “We know you got hair where it counts,” even though he ruffled the hair on Harry’s head, it was clear he was referring to something else.

“Could you not be vile for five minutes?” sneered Lucius.

“Nope,” Mulciber answered, not in the least intimidated by Lucius.

“You should go get a shave as well,” Lucius responded as he made a shooing motion at the man.

“Don’t really trusts the guards pointing their wands at my face,” answered Mulciber. Frankly, Harry couldn’t blame him for that.

Lucius steered Harry back to the line up while Crabbe appeared and convinced Mulciber to get a shave after all.

“I swear that man was raised in a barn,” Lucius said, exasperated.

“It’s fine,” Harry said. Sure Mulciber was crude and inappropriate, but he didn’t give Harry the heebie-jeebies like Burke did.

Harry grew increasingly antsy while they waited for the other prisoners to finish up and get in line. He was practically vibrating by the time Albert rejoined them.

“Relax,” Albert said. “Burke still isn’t back.”

“It’s not that,” responded Harry. The last time the prisoners were allowed a shower, it was because Albert was seeing his judicial-wizard. The guards wanted to make sure he looked presentable to give the impression they were doing a good job. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if today’s shower meant good news for him. “Do you think all this means that Hale finally managed to set up a meeting with me?” he asked.

“It’s likely,” Albert responded. It was equally likely that the meeting was meant for Albert.

By the time they were led back to their cells, Harry was a nervous wreck. He paced in the limited space of his cell. The other prisoners tried to offer encouragement, but Harry was too anxious to do more than listen attentively for the guards to open door again. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually he heard the door open and a guard announce that Harry’s judicial-wizard was here to see him. If possible, Harry grew even more nervous, but that could be because it was Wiblin that ordered him to face the wall and put his hands behind his back. Harry could only hope it went better than the last time this happened.

Harry was led to a room not far from where he was given his tattoo. As they approached the door, Harry noted that there was a large window that allowed anyone in the hallway to look into the room. Harry noted that a man was already waiting in the room and had a bunch of items laid out on a table in front of him. Harry only had enough time to notice the camera before he was being pulled forward.

The man stood up as the guards brought Harry in. He waited until Harry’s hands were unspelled before he moved forward and offered his hand. “Reginald Hale,” the man introduced himself.

“Harry Potter,” Harry responded as he shook his hand.

There was a brief pause as Hale pointedly looked at the guards. With reluctance, the guards left and closed the door behind them. Harry was happy to see them leave even if they stayed by the window to observe the meeting. He knew they wouldn’t be able to listen to what was said.

“Please sit,” Hale said. He wasn’t quite what Harry was expecting. Given that Lucius and Albert had spoken so highly of the man, Harry had expected a pureblood with a holier-than-thou attitude. The man was certainly dressed in an expensive robe, but otherwise didn’t look like most pureblood wizards Harry knew. For one thing, the man’s hair was shorter than most purebloods his age seemed to prefer. Hale styled it so it still screamed ‘expensive’, but it almost seemed like a muggle hairstyle. Furthermore, the man has built in a way that Harry had come to expect only from Quidditch players. Unlike most wizards Harry knew, Hale seemed like he spent a good portion of his time exercising and building muscle. It made the man appear imposing. His apperance probably helped him in his chosen career.

“The good news is that your case is playing out favourably in the media,” Hale said jumping right to it. “You were starting to lose some support. Dumbledore’s... failure to have you released immediately was lending credibility to the ministry’s unorthodox approach. After speaking to Mr. Nott, I had enough information to steer the media into looking into last year’s ministry-approved detentions. Reporters have been interviewing students non-stop these past couple of days.”

“Who?” Harry asked. He couldn’t help but wonder if his friends had been interviewed and if so, what they said.

“There have been dozens of students willing to go on record,” Hale responded. “The public outcry has not been good for the ministry’s image. If we tie you in as another victim, we can use the public anger to regain some sympathy for you.”

Harry didn’t like being labelled as a victim, but he knew this was coming.

“With your permission, I would like to photograph your hand,” Hale said as he observed the hand in question. “And the tattoo you were unlawfully given by Azkaban’s guards.”

Harry didn’t like. He really didn’t. He still hadn’t come to terms with having the tattoo, so the thought of willingly splashing it on the front page of a newspaper was terrifying. It had taken considerable effort for Albert and Lucius to convince him it was the best course of action. “OK,” Harry reluctantly agreed.

“Great! Let’s get that out of the way now,” Hale stated. However, instead of picking up the camera that was on the table, the man picked up a comb. To Harry’s surprise, he leaned over and started to comb through Harry’s hair.

“Er,” Harry sputtered, feeling more than a little awkward.

“The state that Azkaban keeps their prisoners in is something we can use to garner sympathy, but for now we want people to focus on a specific thing. If they’re too busy staring at your hair, they won’t be focusing on the tattoo,” Hale explained. He was surprisingly gentle as he worked to untangle Harry’s hair. After a few minutes he leaned back and frowned.

“I think I made it worse,” he said.

“My hair has never been cooperative,” Harry explain.

“I’ll bring product next time,” the man sighed. He tried to flatten Harry’s hair as much as possible.

“Could you pull down the collar of your shirt?” Hale asked as he set down the comb and picked up the camera. “Great. Now, tilt your head... Perfect. Keep that expression.”

Harry didn’t know what expression he was making, but he was sure it wasn’t flattering. He was uncomfortable and embarrassed, but that was probably what Hale was aiming for. After a few shots of Harry’s tattoo, he asked to see Harry’s hand. He took a few pictures of the scar. Normally Azkaban’s low lighting would have made the scar hard to see, but Hale had brought his own light. As the man was not allowed to bring in his wand, he brought in an orb that glowed. It looked a little like a lightbulb.

Hale was smirking as he put down the camera. It was such a smarmy lawyer look that Harry would have been worried had it been aimed at him. Luckily it was aimed at the guards that were standing nervously by the window watching the interview from the hallway.

“I would like to ask you about your scar, tattoo and experiences in Azkaban. If it’s ok with you, I would like to note your responses,” Hale gestured to a notepad and quill – the remaining items on the table. Albert had previously explained that the quill was spelled to write down Harry’s words verbatim. Luckily it couldn’t capture his tone or note any unnatural pauses Harry might make. In other words, no matter how rehearsed Harry sounded, that was something only he and Hale would know. Which was a good thing, because Albert and Lucius had coached him on what he should say to the questions that Hale was going to ask him. Hale could then use Harry’s responses with both the media and on any official documents he submitted to the ministry on Harry’s behalf.

While Hale waited for Harry to gather his thoughts (and courage), he rolled up his sleeves. It temporarily distracted Harry as something about the action registered as wrong to him. It wasn’t until he shivered, that Harry realized Azkaban was too cold for Hale to have done so because he was warm. Harry frowned at the man’s arms. It took him a moment to realize what was bothering him was the fact that there was no tattoo. He had become used to seeing dark marks on the arms of everyone around him, that an unmarked arm registered as odd to him now. Harry felt bad for assuming Hale was a death eater simply because he represented so many of them. This was Hale’s way of assuring Harry that he wasn’t directly answering to the man that wanted to kill Harry. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t indirectly support Voldemort’s agenda, but Harry did feel better knowing the man wasn’t a death eater.

“I consent,” Harry said. Hale nodded and placed the quill above the notepad. He began asking Harry questions, and Harry answered them as he had practiced with his mentors. The answers might have been rehearsed but the sentiments were real. Harry wanted to speak out against the ministry, especially Umbridge. Lucius and Albert simply helped ensure he would do so elegantly.

Despite being prepared, it was difficult for Harry to talk about everything. Especially the part where he decided to bring Sirius in. Harry wasn’t comfortable using his godfather as a tool for his own release, but he did want retribution for Sirius. So, when he spoke about the ministry locking him away without a trial, it was easy to remind the world that the ministry had a history of doing this. Since no one was telling him anything about scheduling a trial, he was starting to believe the ministry planned to keep him in Azkaban indefinitely no matter how unlawful it was.

Hale was patient throughout the process and allowed Harry to review everything once they were done. When the quill was no longer recording their conversation, Hale laid out his plan of action for Harry.

“The groundwork has been done for your blood quill scar. I can build on the outrage to frame it as the ministry having been out to get you for years. It may even cause some people to assume the ministry made up the charges they arrested you for,” Hale said. Harry was glad the man didn’t ask Harry if he was guilty as Harry didn't like admitting it. Harry knew Hale must know. As the death eaters told him when he arrived, the ministry had all the proof they needed. The goal here was to get the public on Harry side so that the ministry would pardon him regardless.

“I will also release the pictures of your tattoo. That is not yet public knowledge, so that is sure to cause quite the stir. Imprisoning you without a trial is bad enough, but this. This is going too far. The ministry is not only scarring children, but branding them too? It won’t go over well. Once the public is suitably is upset, I will release a statement that you are willing not to press charges for the tattoo if the ministry stops holding you illegally. It will present you as kind and forgiving – a clear contrast to how the ministry is behaving,” Hale summarized. Harry nodded even though he did not forgive Burke or Wiblin. He would love to press charges, but if letting it go allowed him to be released, he would suck it up.

“I will also submit your official request to be released or given a trial date,” Hale continued. “This would have been done sooner but Dumbledore was protesting the validity of my claim as your judicial-wizard,” the man sounded frustrated for the first time since the interview started.

“Why?” Harry asked.

“He claimed he was already working as your judicial representative. However, I was able to prove that he never even attempted to visit you, so there was no proof you consented to his representation,” Hale answered. Harry flinched. It hurt to hear that Dumbledore didn’t try to see him. It pained him that the headmaster didn’t trust him to speak for himself like he was doing now with Hale. Harry hadn’t exactly helped himself when the aurors showed up to arrest him, but he would have worked with Dumbledore if the man had shared his plan to get Harry released. What hurt even more was the knowledge that Dumbledore hadn’t tried to see him just to make sure he was OK.

“I anticipate that the ministry will try to stall as much as they can. I don’t know the goal, but you seem to be a pawn in a tug of war they’re having with Dumbledore. But I am more than happy to point this out to the public and let it blow up in their faces,” Hale explained. “By the time you go to trial, convicting you will be a career-ending move to whoever is stubborn enough to try.”

Harry wasn’t completely convinced the plan would work. He knew the minister was desperate to gain public support. Since Harry made it clear he wasn’t going to help with that goal, the ministry would likely fight back by painting him as a delinquent. There was no guarantee that people would believe him over the ministry.

“What if the ministry does set a trial date?” Harry asked.

“Then you and I will regroup and strategize a new course of action,” it helped that Hale didn’t seem all that phased by the idea of his initial plan not working as they hoped. “And even with a trial date, we can still work to win over the public.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely.

“It’s what I do,” responded Hale.

Both Harry and Hale stood up once their meeting was coming to a close. Harry realized there was one more aspect they hadn’t discussed.

“Wait! How am I supposed to pay you? I can’t exactly go to Gringotts,” Harry worried.

Hale looked a little awkward as he revealed, “Albert Nott has already covered my fee.”

“What?” Harry frowned.

“You can always arrange to pay him back once you’re able to get to your funds,” Hale suggested. Harry nodded but dwelled on the fact that Albert had paid for his clearly expensive judicial-wizard.

“Thank you, Mr. Hale,” Harry repeated as the guards entered the room at Hale’s signal.

“Reginald, please,” the man said.

“Hands on the table, Potter,” Wiblin ordered. Harry was mortified as he was patted down to make sure Reginald hadn’t sneaked him some contraband items. Once satisfied, the guards spelled Harry’s hands behind his back. As Wiblin was pulling him from the room, Harry heard the click of a picture being taken. Both Harry and the guard turned to look at Reginald who had the camera pointed at them. Harry didn’t like it, but trusted Reginald by now. The reason Reginald took his picture at the start of the interview was because Harry was still tense and uncomfortable. That would come through in the pictures. Harry was tense again because Wiblin was holding him tightly. It brought back bad memories. However, at the click of the camera, the guard loosened his hold. He was more cautious as he led Harry back to his cell.


	9. Desperate Measures

**Ahem... mind the tags.**

 

 

Harry knew it was too much to hope that Burke would be too embarrassed to ever return. Yet it still managed to surprise him when Burke stormed towards their cells. He didn’t expect the amount of anger Burke was displaying. It was a sharp contrast to the mood that the prisoners had been in just before.

Harry spent the morning reviewing and learning new transfiguration spells. He was enjoying these lessons immensely. He didn’t mean to be disloyal to McGonagall, but Lucius had inspired him to take the subject more seriously. It helped that Harry had a clear view of the man so any demonstrations he did never had to filter through the other prisoners first. There was a fluidity to these lessons that Harry found somewhat lacking in the other subjects.

Of course, there was also a downside to Lucius having a clear view of Harry. The man had taken to squeezing in etiquette lessons. So far, he mostly nagged Harry about his posture. He was constantly reminding him to sit straight or stand a certain way when casting spells. Harry wouldn’t admit it, but the wand movements did feel more natural when he stood the way Lucius suggested. This was the reason he entertained Lucius in what Ron would have called ‘high society bullshit’.

When Burke stormed in, he interrupted their lunch where Lucius was insisting Harry hold his spork (the only utensil Azkaban provided) in a more “dignified” manner. He was also suggesting how much food ought to be picked up and eaten at a time. Lucius was disappointed he didn’t have a full range of utensils to show Harry how to “eat properly”. Harry found that his posture, portion control, and the placement of the spork in his hand was more than enough as far as these etiquette lessons should go.

“I feel like a prat,” Harry complained as he brought the food to his mouth and tried to chew “delicately”.

"Be glad he can't dress you like a proper young wizard, because you’d look like a prat too," teased Mulciber.

"Just because you look like a pauper," sneered Lucius, "doesn't mean the rest of us-”

Before he could finish reprimanding Mulciber, the door at the end of the hall opened. Almost immediately Burke’s angry voice shouted out.

“You bastards!” he said as he stormed towards them, “I know it was you fucking twats!”

“What’s that now?” asked Albert innocently as Burke came to a halt by the man’s cell door.

“I know you’re the one that sent me that, that, skunk plant!” Burke hissed.

“Is that what that smell is?” asked Albert as he made a show of leaning closer to Burke, exaggerated a sniffing noise, then wrinkling his nose. “Oh dear,” he continued, “it seems like you didn’t wash it all off.”

“So, you admit it was you,” pushed Burke as he brandished his wand in Albert’s direction.

“How? You may have noticed I’m stuck in Azkaban,” Albert gestured around him.

“As if I didn’t know you’ve seen your judicial-wizard. You got that snake to send it,” Burke’s face had grown increasingly red as he accused Albert.

“Oh, I’m sure you must have admirers outside of this place,” Albert misdirected. He said it innocently enough but could not contain his smirk.

“I know it was you and you’re not getting away with it,” Burke vowed before ordering “hands against the wall!”

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, suddenly worried for Albert. Burke snarled at Harry. It took him a moment to fully register Harry’s concern, but when he did, Burke relaxed enough to send a nasty smirk his way.

“I’m going to repay Nott for every _hour_ I had to endure that smell,” Burke promised ominously. Lucius hissed at that. When Harry looked over at him, Lucius was glaring powerlessly at the guard. Harry didn’t know what Burke meant, but Lucius’ reaction was enough to tell him he wouldn’t like it.

“Hands against the wall!” repeated Burke. Albert very reluctantly complied.

“You can’t do anything. You’ll get in trouble again,” Harry tried to reason with Burke.

“Shut it, Potter, I’ll deal with you next,” Burke promised. He spelled Albert’s cell door open and stepped over to the prisoner. Burke pushed Albert into the wall before spelling the man’s hands to lock behind his back.

“Let’s go,” Burke pushed Albert out of the cell. Harry fearfully looked between the two. He remembered all too clearly what happened to him the last time Burke dragged him out of his cell. Whatever Burke planned was likely to be painful and humiliating for Albert.

“You know they’re watching you,” Harry felt he had to try to stop this. “Whatever you have planned won’t go over well when-”

“Oh, save it, Potter,” Burke snapped. “I’ve been reading all about your innocent victim spiel. It’s dragonshit. I’ve already told the reporters that you’re guilty and getting what you deserve, just like everyone else,” he punctuated that statement by jerking Albert’s arm. He glared at Harry before adding, “it’s just a matter of time until they see it too.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. Hale’s plan might be working for the moment, but the public was fickle. Yet, Burke wouldn’t be so upset if he wasn’t worried about Hale succeeding and painting Burke and the ministry in a negative light. As much as Harry wanted their plan to work, he didn’t want Albert to pay the price.

“The boy has a point,” Lucius stepped in. “You’re under as much scrutiny as the ministry. You should consider how this will blowback on you.”

“Stay out of this, Malfoy, unless you want a turn too. I can make a day of it. Nott, Potter, you,” he threatened and tightened his grip on Albert even more. “Anyone else? Crabbe? McNair?” Burke paused long enough to ensure no one else was talking back. “I thought not,” he sneered.

Burke calmed down somewhat once he realized his threats were working. His face wasn’t as red with anger as it had been just moments ago.

“Move,” he ordered and pushed Albert to get him moving. Albert stumbled at the action but quickly righted himself. He frowned but started walking as directed.

“Stop,” Harry said helplessly as the two men started leaving.

“I’ll be back for you soon, Potter,” Burke promised.

Harry looked to Lucius even though he wasn’t sure what he expected the man to do. Burke clearly wouldn’t listen to reason. They had no other recourse. Harry flinched when the door at the end of the hall opened and closed again.

“What is he going to do?” asked Harry. He was feeling worried and guilty. Burke was only going after Albert because the flower. Albert had only sent it to Burke to make Harry feel better.

“Nothing good,” answered Crabbe but seemed unwilling to elaborate.

“There’s nothing you can do about it now,” Lucius said as he noticed how worried Harry was.

The men were quiet as they waited for Albert’s return. No one wanted to voice their concerns beyond what was already said. Harry suspected they already knew what was happening to Albert, but no one wanted to be the one to tell Harry. They might have wanted to spare him, but it only left Harry imaging the full range of possibilities. He hadn’t quite pinned down if Burke was more of a Umbridge type of sadist, or if he was going to show more Voldemort leanings. Regardless, it left a sick feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t finish his lunch as he completely lost his appetite. It got worst the longer they had to wait for Albert’s return.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, Harry kept recalling how gleeful Burke had been when he’d had Harry bound and at his mercy. Harry’s hope that Reginald Hale was reigning in the guards was diminishing the longer Albert was gone. Some guards may have been more cautious, but he doubted they would try very hard to stop Burke. Without restraint, Burke would keep coming at them. Harry broke out into a cold sweat as he imagined how much worse it could get. Harry was genuinely worried for Albert, but he knew that whatever Burke was doing to the other man would only be a warmup for what he had planned for Harry.

Lucius’ drawn expression offered no comfort. Harry grew increasingly fidgety as the seconds ticked by.  Harry couldn’t suppress his jump when the door at the end of the hall finally opened. It seemed to take forever for Burke to return Albert to his cell. Harry wondered if Burke was purposely trying to torture them by building the suspense.

Eventually they moved into Harry’s sight. There were two other guards with them, though Harry didn’t let himself relax since one of them was Wiblin. But it was Albert’s appearance that caused him more grief than either of his two least favourite guards.

The slow pace wasn’t Burke’s insightful way to increase Harry’s worry and fear. They were moving slow because Albert seemed incapable of going any faster. The guards seemed content to let Albert take slow painful steps rather than help by levitating him or healing his wounds. 

The man’s face was swelling from what was clearly repeated blows to his head. The guards hadn’t bothered to clean up the blood from Albert’s split lip and the cut above his left eyebrow. Harry thought the latter was still bleeding sluggishly. Albert’s clothes were similarly stained with blood. The guards didn’t seem to be any more inclined to clean them up either.

Burke spelled the cell door open with a flourish. The man was noticeably in a better mood. His eyes tracked Albert as he painfully made his way back into his cell. The prisoner was slightly hunched over. Once his arms were no longer tied behind his back, he held one arm close to his side. His posture made it clear that there were more injuries under his clothes.

“You ought to thank me, Nott,” Burke gloated as Albert’s cell door closed once more. Albert tried to snort incredulously at that but what came out sounded more pained than anything else.

“I considered bringing that wretched plant to decorate your cell,” hissed Burke. Harry had to wonder why the man hadn’t followed through with that. It would have made the entire hall of convicts miserable. Of course, it likely would have negatively impacted the guards as well.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Albert denied. He gingerly lowered himself on to his cot.

“I’m sure... Perhaps Potter knows then,” Burke threatened as he drew his attention away from the injured man and focused on Harry once more. Harry drew in a fortifying breath as he held the man’s full attention once more. Whatever satisfaction Burke had gotten from seeing Albert in pain slid off his face as he moved towards Harry’s cell.

“Shall we go for a walk and _discuss_ it?” Burke asked. He gripped the bars tightly. Harry noticed that the man’s knuckles were still bloody. Apparently, he hadn’t bothered to clean himself up either.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Wiblin cut in. He looked nervous, which increased as Burke set his narrowed eyes on his coworker. After an awkward pause, he added “I need this job.”

“Potter isn’t innocent. He won’t bet getting out no matter what the _papers_ say,” stressed Burke.

“Then... it won’t matter if this,” Wiblin gestured vaguely in Harry’s direction, “waits until there’s no longer any media focus.”

“I don’t need any warnings or a suspension,” the other guard cut in. “We probably should have left Nott. If Hale comes by soon and hears about it, he’ll make a big stink- I mean, umm, _hassle_ of you know...” the guard started to trail off as Burke’s glare focused on him.

It was tense as everyone waited for Burke to decide what he was going to do. The man glared at Harry, letting him know what his preference would be, but eventually snarled “this isn’t over,” before spitting in Harry’s general direction. Harry was too far away, so Burke’s glob of spit landed harmlessly near the foot of the bed.

Harry was more than happy to see the guards go. His relief at his own physical safety was tempered by his guilt that Albert hadn’t been as lucky. Whatever reprieve Hale may set up of Harry didn’t extend to the other prisoners.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Albert groaned. Harry was surprised the man could read the guilt on Harry’s countenance, given the swelling around his eyes.

“It wasn’t _not_ my fault,” Harry responded. He knew this was on Burke but knowing and feeling were two separate things.

“Burke’s a vindictive shit,” Albert said slowly. He glanced towards his sink and debated whether it was worth the effort to get cleaned up. After sitting on his cot, it was hard to imagine he’d get up again for a long time. In the end, he carefully laid down. Harry could hear the man’s laboured breathing and hoped there wasn’t more serious internal injuries. Lucius was unable to see his friend, but sensed Albert was having difficulty maintaining his role in the conversation.

“It’s not the first time the guards have done something like this. They’ll use any convenient excuse whenever they want to scratch that itch. It wouldn’t have mattered what any of us did or didn’t do,” Lucius said as he took over explaining.

“Burke once broke Mulciber’s nose,” added Crabbe, “and he didn’t heal it for three days.”

“That mugglefucker didn’t give me any pain-relieving potions either,” grumbled Mulciber.

“Surely there must be some consequences,” Harry said as he fretted over how long the guards were likely to leave Albert in pain. It was becoming increasingly clear that the prisoners couldn’t do much, but surely their judicial-wizards could step in. “Perhaps Mr. Hale could do something?” he asked.

“They make sure any injuries are healed before you’re presented to anyone from the outside,” Mulciber informed Harry.

“Like with how they withhold showers sometimes,” agreed Crabbe.

“But couldn’t you still give a statement about what happened?” asked Harry.

“And they could say you provoked them by being violent first,” Mulciber sounded like he was speaking from personal experience.

“What if you gave a memory of the event?” asked Harry. Having spent a good portion of the year reviewing others’ memories, it seemed like an appropriate solution.

“Your judicial-wizard would have to petition the court to allow him to bring his wand to the interview room. Unfortunately, this gives the guards advance notice. Since the petition must be specific, the guards would know what memory is to be recorded. Many prisoners have mysteriously been addled just before the memory could be extracted,” explained Lucius. Harry knew his face was ghostly pale as it really sunk in how much power the guards had over his life while he was stuck there.

“Wouldn’t that prove their guilt though? If all prisoners can’t remember what happened, that in itself would indicate that something is going on,” Harry questioned.

“Yes,” Mulciber acknowledged, “but without proof...”

“There have been instances where memories are collected for the courts, but that’s usually once the person has been released and is trying to sue. But even then, it’s not necessarily the best course of action. The memory is thoroughly examined to ensure it hasn’t been tampered with. There is always the chance that the court may request seeing additional memories if the guards try to claim there was provocation. This leaves the accuser vulnerable to an invasion of privacy and sometimes additional charges for infractions revealed in the memories. You’d have to be _very_ sure before you choose to use this strategy,” Lucius explained.

To Harry it sounded like the laws were in place to keep the prisoners down. Before becoming one himself, he might not have cared or possibly excused it as justifiable as criminals were suffering for their crimes. After living through it, Harry realized how broken the system was. Frankly, he didn’t understand why he was punished but Burke had free reign to do as he pleased. What Burke had just done to Albert seemed worse than Harry’s one second mistake, especially since Burke had planned it out and done similar acts before. It didn’t make sense how Burke’s violence was tolerated and almost protected under the law.

Once the prisoners had made themselves depressed about their situation, it was hard to move forward with Harry’s afternoon lessons. Albert was supposed to have led them, but everyone wanted to give the man time to heal instead. Harry quietly talked to Lucius as Mulciber and the Lestranges brainstormed last minute spells that might interest Harry. Lucius periodically asked for updates on Albert’s status, but Harry couldn’t tell much as the man remained lying down. Harry hoped he had managed to fall asleep.

It took a couple of hours, but eventually everyone was able to engage in the lessons with their usual vigour. Mulciber and Rabastan were tag teaming to teach Harry a spell called ‘Lynceus Sight’, even though it wasn’t part of the sixth-year curriculum. It essentially gave someone temporary x-ray vision. Unfortunately, it was exceptionally difficult to control. Mulciber told Harry about one of his classmates who cast the spell on himself in hopes of seeing his crush naked. He had been unable to stop after looking past her clothes and ended up seeing muscles and bones. And it hasn’t just been focused on his crush, but everyone who happened to be around. Grossed out, the bloke had tried to avert his gaze by looking at the ground but ended up seeing past the floor. The kid freaked out as his brain kept telling him he wasn’t standing on anything.

“So, it’s actually more effective when cast on a seeing-aid device. Well, it isn’t as strong, which ironically makes it more effective,” concluded Lestrange after Mulciber finished his cautionary tale.

“Like Moody’s eye?” asked Harry.

“Exactly,” confirmed the other Lestrange brother. “Your glasses would be a perfect tool to cast the spell on,” he added.

“Hear that, Potter? If you ever wanted to see someone in their skivvies, now’s your chance!” laughed Mulciber.

“You’re the only perv here,” Harry threw back good-naturedly. As tempting as the opportunity might be, Harry wouldn’t violate someone privacy like that.

“Wait, you don’t think Moody uses his eye to watch people walk around naked all day, do you?” Harry suddenly couldn’t help but wonder if the man ever took a peak at him. Or Crouch Jr, who impersonated Moody.

“Oh, definitely,” responded Mulciber.

“The man was an auror. A very paranoid one. I’m pretty sure he mostly used that eye to sneak up on criminals or see through enchantments,” Lucius countered.

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t also use it for more nefarious reasons,” said Mulciber.

This transitioned into exploring variations of the spell. Lucius’ grandfather had used a pair of glasses to see wards. Many curse breakers often used a variation of the spell that allowed them to see what branches of magic were placed on an object.

“How specific can the spell be?” wondered Harry. “Could I charm my glasses to let me know if someone was using Polyjuice, for example?”

None of the men knew if that specific variation of spell existed.

“You could always try to create the spell,” suggested Rodolphus. Harry had never consider creating his own spells before. He wasn’t sure how to go about it, so the others started explaining how they would use the known spells as a springboard to develop additional variations. Together the men picked apart their knowledge of enhanced vision, Polyjuice, and shape shifting characteristics. By the time they were satisfied their spell would work, Harry couldn’t help but feel proud. He not only understood the logic behind the new spell, but had also contributed to the discussion that helped them arrive at the incantation for their new spell. They would have to test the spell to ensure it would work, but Harry was already jumping forward; he had a similar suggestion for a variation that would enable someone to see if a nearby animal was actually someone’s Animagus form. Harry nervously shared this with the others. They had just started to debate the feasibility of the spell working, when the guards returned to announce it was shower time.

“Get up Nott,” yelled Burke as he stopped by the man’s cell. He made banging noises despite the fact that Albert had already groaned and was making an effort to sit up.

Albert didn’t look any better than he had a few hours ago. The swelling and bruising had set in, so the man looked even worse off than he had a few hours ago. The blood he hadn’t washed off was now dry and crusted. When he got up to join the line, Albert was unable to move any faster than his initial return. Only Burke seemed please by the sight.

Harry gently took Albert’s hand and placed it on his upper arm. He had initially tried to bring Albert’s hand to his shoulder, but the man hissed in pain before he could raise his arm too high. It would have been better to allow the man to lean against his side, but the guards would not let them walk side-by-side. This was the best Harry could offer as they moved single file.

Once they got to the locker rooms, Lucius moved close to help. They hit a snag when Albert tried to undress. He couldn’t remove his shirt without considerable pain. Eventually one of the guards stepped in and cut the shirt from his body. Harry briefly hoped the guard would also heal Albert, but he didn’t.

It was more awkward to support Albert once they were all naked. Harry and Lucius bracketed Albert and allowed him to set the pace. This unfortunately meant that Harry couldn’t use his hands to cover his privates while he walked. And since everyone was curious about Albert’s injuries, everyone was watching them. Despite this, Harry was willing to sacrifice his dignity to help Albert.

Once they reached the stalls, Harry was surprised that the two men still kept Harry in the middle. Harry would have protested but Mulciber abandoned his stall to move into the one on Albert’s other side.

Harry started to wash his own body as Albert took a moment to adjust to the sensation of the water spray hitting his cuts and bruises. Now that the man was naked, everyone could see that he was bruised all over. The most damage was around his stomach and ribs, but it was clear that Burke made a valiant effort to mark each part of Albert’s body.

When Harry noticed Albert was struggling to lift his hand to the soap dispenser, he reached over and pressed it for him. Harry was too embarrassed to offer to wash the man for him. However, the more Albert struggled, the more Harry thought he should offer to help. Fortunately, Mulciber had finished his shower so he moved into Albert’s stall to help.

The man wasn’t gentle as his worked to remove the dried blood, but Albert didn’t complain. It helped that Mulciber distracted him with crass jokes. When Lucius finished his shower, he too moved to help by scrubbing Albert’s back. Lucius would have told off Mulciber for his crude comments but refrained when he realized Albert was smiling despite his pain. Albert was trying not to laugh as it would hurt his ribs.

Once Harry finished his shower, he hovered in case he was needed. He also didn’t want to risk running into Burke without backup. It was not the Gryffindor behaviour he was known for, but Albert’s injuries were a stark reminder of what Burke would happily enjoy doing to them all.

The warm water ran out quickly as they had to take their time arriving at the stalls. Despite their discomfort, no one rushed Albert. Even Lucius waited until the man was ready to return to the changing room. When a guard noticed they finally arrived, he brought Albert a button-down shirt. It was a small mercy but still appreciated as Albert would have preferred to walk around bare chested than try to pull on the standard Azkaban shirt.

“He could have healed him,” grumbled Harry. Even with this wardrobe change, Albert had trouble getting his arms in the sleeves and needed help to dress.

“He doesn’t know how,” Lucius explained.

“What?” Harry was shocked. If he could do some basic healing spells, then shouldn’t the guard be able to?

“Most of the guards aren’t hired for their intellect,” added Mulciber. Lucius and Harry supported Albert’s weight while Mulciber bent down to help pull up his pants. Mulciber didn’t complain even though it put him awfully close to Albert’s junk. “If they come relatively cheap and are able to keep secrets, then they’re hired. There are some exceptions. Believe it or not, Burke isn’t usually this much of a moron.”

“But that’s...” Harry thought it was ridiculous that the ministry would hire people who weren’t prepared for even simple injuries. “What if they’re the ones that are injured?”

“They’ll ask one of the guards with some healing knowledge, or just use a potion,” Lucius explained.

“And they can’t bring a potion for Albert?” Harry asked incredulously.

“They would have to explain why it was used if they want any replacement potions.”

Harry figured that answered that.

After they were returned to their cells, Albert thanked them and went to lay down again. The others went back to conversing as quietly as they could. They felt it was getting too late to continue with lessons, so the men quietly told him about their lives before Azkaban. Harry tried not to but he felt some pity for the Lestrange brothers. Most of their stories were about their teen years or early 20s. The majority of their adult lives were wasted in Azkaban. The only ‘happy’ story Rodolphus shared of his later years was when he was briefly reunited with his wife. He still thought she was as beautiful as always. Harry would have found it a sweet story had it been about anyone else. Anger still boiled in him when he thought about Bellatrix, but Harry was slowly warming up to Rodolphus. Harry found he had to constantly remind himself of what the man did to Neville’s family in order to keep an emotional distance.

Unfortunately, the same trick didn’t work against Lucius. He found himself appreciating the man’s company and guidance, no matter what negative memory he recalled. Lucius was also an excellent storyteller, so Harry found he enjoyed listening to the man talk as a way to pass the time in Azkaban. And if the man’s stories often centered around his son, well Harry gobbled that up even more. Unfortunately, the other men eventually noticed Harry preoccupation. Harry didn’t know if it was something in his voice or that he asked too many follow-up questions on the Draco stories, but something had given away his secret crush.

“Like them pretty, do you?” teased Mulciber. As much as Harry wanted to punch the man, he had no qualms about admitting Mulciber had grown on him. He was crass and had a mean streak, but Harry found his frankness refreshing. Except perhaps in this particular situation when the man was tactlessly mentioning his crush. In general, it helped that Harry didn’t have much of a history with the man prior to Azkaban. Mulciber also seemed to be the only one that didn’t see him as a kid. He interacted with Harry like he was an equal.

“Watch what you say,” Lucius warned as Mulciber talked about his son.

“It was a compliment,” Mulciber brushed off Lucius’ warning. “So Pots, why haven’t you asked Draco out yet?”

“Er, we’re not exactly… friendly…” Harry felt awkward having this conversation, especially with Lucius right there. Harry had only just come to terms with the fact that he liked his rival, but he hadn’t admitted that fact aloud before. He didn’t see the point when he knew his best friends would be horrified. Given their history with Draco, Ron and Hermione were likely to discourage Harry from pursuing a relationship with him. Harry was pretty sure that Hermione might have already guessed at Harry’s crush since she was subtly nudging him towards Ginny. As much as he liked Ginny, and knew she was less likely to turn him down and break his heart, Harry felt horrible for liking her since she was dating his friend. Harry felt like his heart had chosen the two most impossible people to focus on.

“Well, why aren’t you having hate sex with him then?” asked Mulciber nonplused. Lucius harrumphed and glared at the wall separating him from Mulciber.

Harry knew he was blushing, but that was a fantasy he had entertained before. Perhaps they’d fight about quidditch, or Draco would insult his friends, or Harry would push to find out what Draco was up to in the room of requirement. Whatever it was, they would argue, possibly try to curse one another, but as they drew closer, their fight would become physical. Only, instead of punches, they would find themselves kissing. What happened next would depend on how the fantasy started. If they had been in a deserted hallway, Harry imagined some heavy petting. Even in his own mind, Harry didn’t want to risk Snape catching them and seeing him naked. But when Harry entertained thoughts of confronting Draco near the room of requirement, he allowed the fantasy to go further. Without the possibility of being interrupted Harry imagined how Draco would feel in his mouth or arse; what he tasted like; what he’d feel like if he allowed Harry in him. Harry wanted to try it all, but assumed that they would only ever happen in his mind.

“We’re not like that either. I don’t think Draco would want, er… he just never seemed interested in me in that way,” Harry answered and tried not to look at Lucius lest the man see exactly how impure his thoughts were about his son.

“Draco might not be as opposed to it as you think,” Lucius was picking his words carefully as he considered how much to reveal about his son’s feelings. When Mulciber laughed, Lucius felt he had to add on “in a relationship, not just a…”

“Booty call,” suggested Mulciber.

“You should wait for true love,” Rodolphus added unexpectedly. “Everything is so much better with Belly than any other woman I’ve been with,” he sounded wistful. If Harry hadn’t met the woman, he would picture a saint with the way her husband spoke of her.

“You should also ensure you know all of the right spells too,” Lucius said, using the same tone of voice that he used in their lessons. “Harry, have you mastered all of the safe sex spel-”

“Oh my God!” Harry interrupted horrified. “Please tell me you’re not giving me _the talk_.”

Mulciber was cracking up in his cell. Even the Lestranges seemed to be chuckling. Lucius looked uncomfortable but serious.

“I’m well aware that Hogwarts’ professors don’t adequately cover it. With the amount of misinformation that circles around the dorms, it is best to ensure you’re fully prepared when any sexual activities occur,” Lucius pushed though the awkwardness he felt. “Have you learnt the cleaning-”

“I know! I’m prepared! Please for the love of magic, stop,” Harry was beyond embarrassed now.

“You should probably stop cock-blocking your son,” added Mulciber sounding very amused.

“What? I’m not,” Lucius denied.

“You really think Harry is going to want to go beyond handjobs if he’s constantly reminded that his boyfriend’s dad taught him the sex spells he’s using?” asked Mulciber.

Harry wanted to sink into the floor. As much as he liked the thought of getting to the point where he would need to know sex spells, Mulciber was right that Lucius was the last person Harry wanted to discuss this with. This was one subject he didn’t want his new mentors to teach him, even if all of them seemed to think he’d be able to convince Draco to be in a situation where they were necessary.

“I’m trying to make sure they are both prepared,” insisted Lucius.

“You taught Draco, didn’t you? They’ll be fine,” Mulciber said, then steered the conversation away from sex spells. “So, what do you like about Draco?”

Harry was still uncomfortable discussing his crush, but was worried that if he didn’t distract Lucius the man would insist they go back to sex spells. “He’s smart,” Harry admitted. When Lucius raised his eyebrow, he felt the need to elaborate. “Like, not just book smart. I mean… well, in fourth year he animated these badges. They said ‘Potter stinks’ so it was pretty insulting, but it was impressive all the same. I wouldn’t have been able to do that,” he said. If Harry hadn’t been tutored by these men, he probably still wouldn’t be able to create those badges. As soon as Harry realized he got his new skill set from them, it also occurred to him that they might not be as impressed as Harry was with the badges. “It’s not just that he’s smart, I guess. It’s that he’s creative too. He doesn’t just regurgitate spells. He finds ways to use them in different situations,” Harry concluded.

“Good quality to have,” Mulciber conceded. “And kudos to you Harry for not starting with ‘he’s hot’.”

“How could I when his father’s right here and threatening me with unnecessary sex ed lessons?” Harry responded. Mulciber snorted, Rodolphus chuckled, and Lucius tried to look unimpressed but ruined it with a smile. “But, er, he is that too,” Harry added shyly. Draco might not have the same glow about him this year, but Harry thought he was still unfairly beautiful.

“What else?” wondered Mulciber.

“The way he flies,” Harry admitted quietly. “Even in our first year, it was just so… elegant. Which is ridiculous because when he plays quidditch he’s so far from sophisticated. He cheats, and tries to knock me off my broom – he once pretended to see the snitch _just_ so he could elbow me in the face when I chased after him,” Harry’s voice got a little louder as he became indignant at the memory. “But, I guess, in a weird way I like the challenge. Our games against slytherin are always more intense. I guess – well, Draco pushes me to be better, play smarter, you know?”

“Violent tendencies aside, it’s good to have someone that’ll push you to grow,” Mulciber responded.

“Quidditch doesn’t count,” argued Rodolphus. “A little bit of violence is expected to make the game interesting.”

“I suspect Draco was attempting the pulling-pigtails approach to discovering a crush,” Lucius suggested. “If he knew he has a chance with you, I imagine he would be less… mean.”

“But that’s another thing. He’s actually more kind than I ever gave him credit for,” Harry admitted. He was still embarrassed about being so candid with his feelings, but he was starting to appreciate finally being able to talk about it openly and not feel judged for who he was crushing on. “I used to think he was spoiled-”

“He is,” confirmed Lucius.

“Yeah, but it’s not the _mean_ spoiled. Well, he can be really mean, but that’s with people he doesn’t like,” such as Harry, Harry thought morosely. It was perhaps his least favourite part of Draco’s personality. Draco would go after what his opponent was the most vulnerable about. But he was the opposite with the people he truly cared about. “My cousin, Dudley, is spoiled. He gets whatever he wants and that made him really selfish. He doesn’t really think about anyone but himself. I used to think Draco was the same way. But it’s more like he’s learnt that you spoil the people you care about. Like… when Crabbe told me that Draco buys his son _Olga the Outrageous_ merchandise! If Dudley found out his friend was obsessed with a character from a kid’s book, he’d tease him about it. Draco is more supportive… And, you told me that every Hogsmeade weekend, Draco looks for a present to buy you and his mum. I don’t think any other student does that… Or this one time he transfigured a bunch of forks into a bouquet of colour-changing roses and gave them to Parkinson. At first Ron and I thought he was showing off or trying to get into Parkinson’s pants. We later found out he was just trying to cheer her up because Flitwick called her out for doing poorly on her charms essay…” Harry could think of half a dozen more examples, but he cut himself off before he could voice them. Harry realized he was full-on gushing at this point.

“That’s quite insightful,” said Lucius once he realized Harry was done. He was giving Harry a soft look that many people would assume the man incapable of. Harry shrugged feeling embarrassed.

“And not as love-blind as Rodo here,” added Mulciber. “It’s refreshing to hear that you see the bad with the good. I’ve met Draco and he can be a prick.”

“That’s because he has the good sense not to like you,” Lucius bantered. There was no real heat behind either of the men’s words.

“I see Belly’s flaws,” argued Lestrange.  Lucius looked as shocked as Harry felt. He hadn’t heard one negative word from Lestrange about his wife. “She snores _and_ hogs the sheets,” Lestrange offered. Love-blind indeed.

“As shocking as that is,” Mulciber said sarcastically, “I’m more surprised that Harry here isn’t an entitled arsehole.”

“Er, thanks?” Harry responded.

“Just meant that before I met you, I would have assumed you’d be a spoiled brat too. You know, being the saviour and all,” Mulciber explained. “That spoiled cousin of yours – he the one you live with?”

“Unfortunately,” said Harry.

“But you weren’t spoiled too?” pressed Mulciber.

“No,” Harry felt embarrassed for a whole new reason.

“You don’t talk about your family,” noted Lestrange.

“It’s better not to,” hedged Harry.

“Is it because they’re muggles? We won’t judge you if you love the muggles that raised you,” Lestrange offered.

“It’s not that,” Harry said. There was definitely no love lost between Harry and the Dursleys. “I just don’t feel like talking about them.”

“Alright,” Lestrange’s tone was mild as he agreed for the rest of the men that they wouldn’t push Harry to talk about it for now. Still, Harry was pretty sure he managed to reveal more than he intended to. There was a slight lull in the conversation until Mulciber felt the need to break it.

“I’m sure once you start dating, Draco will spoil you rotten,” he said cheerfully.

“I don’t know why you all seem to think Draco will agree to be my boyfriend,” Harry said. Harry knew he wasn’t irresistible.

 “Harry,” Lucius sounded serious. He waited until he had Harry’s full attention before continuing. “I don’t think my son would want me to say this, but since your interest seems genuine I’ll intercede. I’ve suspected that Draco has liked you for – well, let’s just say awhile.”

“He doesn’t act like it,” Harry couldn’t help but cut in.

“My son doesn’t handle rejection well. You’re one of the few his age that has refused to let him bludgeon his way into getting what he wants. As such, you’ve gained his anger, but also his respect. Unfortunately he now feels too vulnerable to outright ask you for another chance at friendship or more. He’ll try to impress you and when that doesn’t seem to work, he’ll act out to anger you. Whatever gets your attention to validate his worth. He wants you to see him, but he won’t risk the potential further rejection of outright asking you for more,” Lucius said.

Harry looked at Lucius in shock. He didn’t know what Draco was writing in his letters home to make Lucius come to this conclusion. Harry wanted to believe it would be as simple as asking Draco. He didn’t think Lucius was setting him up for failure, but it was hard to wrap his head around the idea that Draco might like him back.

“Even if you’re right,” Harry still doubted that Draco didn’t just outright hate him, “I wouldn’t know how to ask him.” Harry didn’t have much experience with asking people out on dates. It wasn’t as if Draco would be charmed by his oh so smooth _Wangoballwime?_ approach. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Draco wouldn’t let him down as kindly as Cho had.

“If two sad sacks like Lucius and I could get the gorgeous Black sisters to agree to marry us, I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” encouraged Lestrange. Lucius rolled his eyes but didn’t bother addressing the insult. From Lucius’ stories, Harry knew the man felt blessed to have Narcissa as a wife.

Harry stared at Lucius, who looked earnest yet encouraging. Harry wanted to accept what he was saying, but it sounded almost too good to be true. Harry craved acceptance but had learnt to be wary of it all the same. He had grown close to these men over the past couple of weeks, but that didn’t erase all the negative history that existed between them. Harry watched Lucius and tried to figure out why the man would be keen to encourage the boy who once tricked him out of a house elf. Even if Lucius had forgiven all past transgressions, once they left their Azkaban bubble, new problems would arise. Voldemort was gearing up for a war that would pit Harry against them. Lucius encouraging Harry to pursue his son seemed foolish, unless...

“He won’t be safer with me,” Harry whispered. He couldn’t blame Lucius if his acceptance was only a scheme to provide his son with extra protection. It pained him, but he could understand it. Lucius was trapped, unable to help his son except perhaps to convince someone else to take on that responsibility. The plan might have worked if Harry had been anyone besides the boy-who-lived. “Vol – you-know-who would just be even more happy to hurt him if he knew Draco mattered to me.”

Lucius looked shocked but that quickly bled into sadness. “As much as I wish I could change things, I fear Draco won’t be safe regardless... at least with you he will be happy,” Lucius said.

Harry’s chest felt tight, but he couldn’t say if that was from suspecting Lucius was plotting, or from believing Lucius trusted him with Draco’s happiness. Either way, it ground their conversation to a halt. Even Mulciber and the Lestrange brothers let the conversation die out. In the resulting quiet, Harry kept imagining how he could convince Draco for both a date and to hideout at grimmauld place.

When supper arrived without Albert rising from his bed, Harry’s concern slipped from Draco and back towards the beaten man. It was only as Harry was lying down for the night that he realized neither of them had been called for a meeting with Hale despite be given the opportunity to shower.

Harry fell asleep surprisingly quickly and had two blissful hours where he was pulled away from all the thoughts that left him with a heavy heart. Then, a loud noise broke the quiet of the prison and caused Harry to jerk awake.

“Burke?” Harry questioned when he saw a man pull open the door his cell. In the dark of the night, it was hard for Harry to make out the features of the man without his glasses on.

“Potter,” was hissed at him. The voice confirmed it was Burke. He quickly strode over to the groggy boy and pushed him back onto the mattress when Harry started to sit up.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked in alarm when Burke leaned over Harry’s prone form. In response the man grabbed a fistful of Harry’s hair and yanked his head to the side.

“What I should have done the moment you arrived,” Burke hissed back. “If I had put you in your place right away, you wouldn’t have caused so much trouble for me,” as Burke spoke, he leaned more and more into Harry’s space. His hold on Harry’s hair was unforgiving and he strained Harry’s neck in an uncomfortable way.

“Get off,” Harry hissed. He blindly swung his arm towards the guard. Burke caught it easily, but in the process let go of Harry hair. Before Harry could feel grateful, Burke yanked Harry’s arm down to his side then swung his own leg over Harry’s torso to trap the arm between Harry’s body and his own. Harry struggled to buck the man off him, but Burke settled heavily over Harry’s torso.

“Entitled little shit,” Burke hissed then backhanded Harry across the face. Harry cried out in shock. While he was dazed, Burke grabbed his other hand and similarly trapped it between their bodies.

“I was doing my _job_. I _punish_ people like you. I make sure you get what you _deserve_.” Burke said as he held Harry down. “And you’re trying to make _me_ the bad guy? Playing innocent and helpless but you’re nothing but a filthy dog,” Burke spat and punctuated his point by backhanding Harry again. The force of it brought tears to Harry’s eyes.

“You’re insane,” Harry said and once again tried to buck the man off. He wasn’t flexible enough to reach him with his legs and couldn’t get enough leverage to free his arms.

“Because I’m not tripping over myself to serve you?” Burke asked and grabbed Harry’s hair again. “I’m not willfully blind like the others. I see what you are, and I will do what everyone else doesn’t seem to have the stomach for. Because that’s what _I_ am. I show you what you are – a sickness,” Burke accentuated his point by harshly pulling Harry’s hair before continuing, “a blight on society,” his other hand grabbed Harry’s chin and held him still with a bruising grip, “a disgusting worm that should be grinned against my heel. You have no power here, Potter.”

Holding Harry in place with one hand on his hair and the other on his chin, Burke leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s. The boy’s eyes widened. He would have pulled back, but he had nowhere to go. He tried to turn his head, not caring if Burke pulled out his hair in the process, but Burke dug his fingers into Harry’s chin and nipped at Harry’s bottom lip in retaliation. In desperation, Harry struggled beneath him to free an arm, and when that didn’t work, he could do nothing more than sob helplessly. Burke chuckled against his lips.

“Get off of him,” Crabbe’s voice called out. For a brief moment Harry was relieved, thinking that perhaps Burke would stop this madness if he knew the other prisoners were awake.

“In a moment,” Burke said carelessly. “When I’m done with him.”

“Get off me you bast-” Burke interrupted Harry’s outburst by leaning down and forcing another kiss. Since Harry’s mouth had been open mid-insult, Burke took the opportunity to slip his tongue in. Harry’s brain short circuited and looped ohmygod-ohmygod-ohmygod as Burke seemed intent on shoving his tongue as far as it could go. He only broke out of his panic when Burke tugged on Harry’s hair to adjust the angle of their kiss. Still frighten but no longer frozen, Harry bit down on the invading tongue. Burke jerked back.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said.

“You’ve made you point,” Lucius said angrily from his cell. “The boy is successfully frightened. You should stop.”

“I’ll say when I stop. That’s my point. You convicts have no power. _I do_ ,” Burke accentuated his point by leaning down again. He didn’t try to slip his tongue in again. Instead he harshly bit at Harry’s lower lip in retaliation. Harry whimpered and tried to move away but that just caused more damage as the man clamped down refusing to let his prize leave.

“Stop,” Harry squirmed as he tried to free his body from under the man. Burke ignored him as he trailed one hand down Harry’s neck. His hand lingered there, and Harry had to close his eyes when he realized the man was admiring his work. The guard caressed the tattoo he left there.

“This was supposed to remind you that you’re mine now,” Burke remarked. “No matter. I’m sure I can find another way to have the message sink in.”

Burke’s hand trailed further down but his own body was blocking his access. Keeping a tight hold on Harry’s hair, the man slid down Harry’s body. He brought his hand to the hem of Harry’s shirt and lifted it up. Harry shivered as chest was exposed, and he knew it had more to do with Burke’s cold gaze than Azkaban’s cold atmosphere. Burke’s hand was firm as it moved up Harry’s chest, and just as unforgiving as it pinched his nipple.

“No,” Harry protested. Given their new position, it was easier for him to free his arms now. He slapped Burke’s hand away from his chest, and then tried to push the man off him. Burke barely moved a few inches before diving back down. However, Harry was determined to fight now that his arms were free. He resisted when Burke tried to recapture them. He kept slapping them against Burke’s chest and face while repeating “get off, get off, get off.”

Finally having enough, Burke reached for Harry’s neck and squeezed. Harry choked as his air supply was completely cut off in Burke’s strong grip. Desperately Harry swiped his nails across Burke’s face but only succeed in making the man angrier. Harry tried to pry Burke’s hand from his neck, but he had no strength left.

“You stupid... thinking you... so fucking... no one would care... work that way... I have you... whatever I... nothing you... me,” Harry couldn’t fully understand whatever Burke was spewing at him. His vision was getting darker the longer he couldn’t pull in a breath. He feared he was about to die but didn’t have the strength to stop it.

He was only saved because something distracted Burke from finishing the job. When Burke’s grip loosened, Harry gratefully gasped in lungfuls of air between coughs.

“... away. I got this,” Burke was saying to a dementor that had stopped at the open door to Harry’s cell. It hovered on the threshold, neither moving in nor leaving as Burke requested.

“Help,” Harry whispered roughly. “Get... im... off...” Harry tried to plead even though it hurt to talk.

“It’s not going to help you, Potter,” Burke mocked as he refocused on Harry. Fortunately, he no longer wanted to strangle Harry to death, but unfortunately his hands resumed their exploration of Harry’s chest. Harry tried to push him away but barely had much strength after their last struggle. He couldn’t stop Burke from pressing his hips to the bed as the man leaned down to lick at Harry’s chest. He tried. He pushed at Burke’s head and mumbled “no, off” but the man ignored him. Burke even tried to ignore the lingering dementor, but its presence was usually enough to kill anyone’s boner.

“Go,” Burke hissed and waved his arm at it.

“Help,” Harry whispered as he watched the unmoving dementor. He pushed feebly at Burke while the man’s attention was off him, but barely managed to get the man to budge.

“Can you not do it yourself?” the dementor asked. At the sound of its voice, Harry recognized the dementor as Asherath. Harry looked at him pleadingly, hoping the dementor had grown fond of him enough to want to help.

Unaware that Asherath had spoken to Harry, Burke once again ordered him to leave. “I’ve got this,” he insisted. Annoyed that the dementor was ignoring his orders, Burke took his frustration out on Harry. When he turned back to the boy, he snarled and roughly yanked down Harry’s trousers and pants in one go.

“No,” Harry’s voice came out stronger but still wasn’t the yell he had intended it to be. He tried to grab his clothes, but Burke grabbed his wrist. He pinned Harry’s hand near his head so that the boy was unable to stop himself from being exposed.

“Leave,” Burke insisted again, but he was watching Harry’s horror-struck face instead of the dementor. He lay atop the boy to keep him pinned down. The hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s wrist was pressing Harry’s face to the cot so that Burke had free range to access Harry’s tattoo. Harry shivered as Burke leaned down and licked it. A second later the man moved his mouth a few inches over and harshly bit down. Harry screamed and tried to pull the man off with his free hand, but once again was unsuccessful.

Harry desperately sought out Asherath, willing to plead for help as Burke’s hand slipped between their bodies. The man sharply tugged at Harry’s flaccid penis and smiled against Harry’s bleeding bite mark when the boy whimpered. Harry could barely make out the shape of the dementor through his tears, but he tried to make eye contact.

“Ash...” he pleaded as Burke harshly groped his balls before moving his hand lower. If Burke succeed in violating his genitals any further, Harry didn’t feel it because his mind was suddenly flooded with new knowledge. He gasped as he struggled to process it but was desperate enough to hold Asherath’s gaze as the dementor shared with him something he knew no other wizard had been given before.

Harry panted through the onslaught of information and the accompanying headache that came with connecting to another’s mind. It wasn’t something he could put into words and explain like any other magical theory, but he suddenly knew how dementors pulled out someone’s soul. If Harry had time to think, he would have convinced himself that it was a magic he couldn’t perform since he wasn’t a dementor. But he knew he had to try when Burke pushed Harry’s legs wide open so that he could settle comfortably between then. Harry trembled, closed his eyes, and tried to call on his magic to coax Burke’s soul out of his body.

Harry feared it might not be working as Burke fumbled with his own clothes as if nothing new had happened. The man pushed his own pants and trousers to his knees before moving to settle over Harry again. Burke gripped Harry’s leg, moved it to his satisfaction, and then just stopped. The man frowned before turning to glare at the dementor still lingering at the door.

“I told you to get out of here,” Burke snarled. Asherath remained hovering where he was, not bothered by the guard’s anger. Burke shivered and started fumbling with trousers, seeking his wand. It wasn’t the man’s sudden panic, or fact that he went from fully erect to limp painfully quick that clued Harry in. It was the full body goosebumps that broke out across every visible inch of his skin. Harry was doing it. He was calling to Burke’s soul the way a dementor could. Harry propped himself up on his elbows but didn’t dare try to escape in case it broke his concentration.

Burke turned to Harry, looking horrified. Harry didn’t know if Burke realized it was Harry or just his own worst memories had started playing in his mind. The more scared Burke got, the more giddy Harry became. Harry knew it was only a fraction of the joy the dementors got when they did this. They pulled a person’s good memories towards them like a damn appetizer before they claimed their soul. This left the dementors all warm and fuzzy while their victims were left with their worst feelings and drowned in misery. It incapacitated them long enough for dementors to pull out their vulnerable souls.

Harry’s pleasure didn’t stem from stealing Burke’s happiness for his own sustenance. Rather, it had to do with feeling his magic thrum under his skin again. It was knowing that he had stopped Burke from violating him further. It was his decision to keep going until he plucked the man’s soul out of his body so that he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. Decision made, Harry sat up and got to work.

Harry didn’t know how long it took him to tease out the soul, but he was patient. He sent his magic out so that it gathered Burke’s soul and nudged it up and out of the man’s mouth. Harry couldn’t help but marvel at his success when a glowing white orb floated just past Burke’s lips. Later Harry would wonder how someone as revolting as Burke could still have such a pure-looking soul. For now, he just took a moment to observe the soul hovering between him and Burke.

Then Harry opened his mouth and swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so hard to write that last part; I hated having to put Harry through that :(


	10. Aftertaste

Warmth spread through Harry at a rapid pace. He panted through the initial shock of it all with his eyes clenched tightly closed. His hands nearly ripped his sheets as he struggled to breath through the feeling of Burke’s soul seemingly spreading throughout his entire body. It was too much and the knowledge that it was Burke made the whole experience agonizing. The bastard managed to get inside Harry after all. Harry gagged but did not think that the dementors had the ability to regurgitate a soul after consumption. At least, Asherath hadn’t shared that knowledge. Harry was left trying to control his breathing as the too-hot/too-full feeling settled in his body.

When he finally felt like he wouldn’t pass out, Harry relinquished his hold on his sheets and opened his eyes. Burke’s vacant stare greeted him. Instinctively, Harry lashed out and pushed the man away from him. Burke’s body toppled off the cot and on to the floor with a slight thump. The body landed facedown and the wand that had been loosely held in Burke’s hand rolled away. Harry vaguely registered the sound, but his eyes remained on the unmoving body. With Burke’s pants bunched around the knees, the legs remained in their bent position, which resulted in Burke’s arse lifted slightly in the air. It might have been a comical sight if Harry wasn’t so traumatized.

“How do you feel?” Asherath’s voice managed to penetrate through Harry’s panic.

“Hot,” Harry panted, “and full.” The latter was a similar feeling to having eaten too much. Every time Harry escaped the Dursleys and was presented with one of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent meals, he couldn’t help but gorge himself. With Mrs. Weasley’s instance that he eat plenty, Harry would inevitably eat too much. Despite having done this a few times, the opportunity to eat as much and whatever he wanted meant he was doing his best Dudley impression. He immediately spent the following few hours regretting his life choices as his body rebelled against his too-full belly. He would moan until he finally digested enough to be comfortable again. Apparently eating a soul gave him the same feeling, except he doubted his body could digest it. “Too much,” Harry cried.

“Expecto patronum!” a voice yelled. A second later a translucent wildcat chased Asherath away. A wounded noise escaped Harry as the dementor was forced away before Harry could ask how he could remove the unpleasant feelings. He didn’t feel any better when it was Wiblin that quickly approached his cell.

The man stopped at the open door and took in the occupants of the cell with a look of shocked horror. He slowly made his way into the cell.

“Potter are you-” Wiblin froze midway to Harry when the boy flinched back from him. Wiblin had been too close to Burke for Harry to trust him. It belatedly occurred to Harry that he was still naked from the waist down. He pulled his sheets around him since he didn’t know where Burke had tossed his clothes. Wiblin gulped as he glanced at Harry’s covered lap before focusing on his fallen co-worker.

“It’s ok,” Wiblin said, which caused Harry to let out a harsh laugh. Wiblin paused briefly before trying again. He spoke softly as if he was trying to calm a wild beast. “I’m just going to see if he-” the man couldn’t finish his sentence as he looked at the body once more. Moving with obvious trepidation, Wiblin moved towards Burke while trying not to get too close to Harry. He searched for a pulse and closed his eyes when he felt it. Standing up quickly, Wiblin didn’t acknowledge Harry’s second flinch as he quickly strode back out of the cell and towards where his patronus was still guarding the hallway.

“Initiate roundup. Burke kissed. Potter... attacked,” the man said and his patronus ran off to deliver the message to his fellow guards.

From the hallways Wiblin kept looking into the cell. Various curses left him, and his eyes kept sliding from Harry to Burke and back again. Harry still wasn’t wearing his glasses so Wiblin’s features were blurry. Just having the man nearby was doing nothing to calm Harry’s racing heart and laboured breathing.

The now familiar sound of the door opening at the end of the hall eventually broke the near silence of the prison. Hurried footsteps of two men quickly made their way to Wiblin.

“What hap – sweet Morgana!” one guard exclaimed as he looked into Harry’s cell. The light from the lumos he’d cast illuminated the awful scene. The man’s eyes were focused on Burke’s bare arse.

“Did he – was Burke – fuck –” the other guard stuttered.

“Surely even Burke wouldn’t have...” the first newly arrived guard trailed off as he focused on Harry. The sheet was clenched in Harry’s hands over his lap. While the guards could tell he still had his shirt on, the bare leg not covered by the sheet spoke of the dark truth. The guards didn’t have to look far to spot a pair of Azkaban standard issue pants and trousers crumpled at the foot of the bed.

“Say it,” hissed Mulciber’s voice, sounding more enraged than Harry could remember. “You knew the bastard. You honestly can’t say you didn’t know he planned to rape Potter.”

Harry flinched at _that_ word, not just bodily but magically as well. An unseen force pushed out from his chest and when it reached Burke, it toppled the body on to its side. Burke’s arse was now facing the guards, but his vacant gaze was pointed towards Harry more clearly than ever. Fortunately, the man’s crotch was still somewhat facing downward. Harry hated seeing what was left of the man, but he did take his first deep breath since taking Burke’s soul. He clung to the knowledge that Burke couldn’t hurt him anymore.

The guards were all riveted on Burke’s unresponsive body. Fortunately for Harry, they assumed gravity was the cause of Burke falling over. Harry’s accidental magic had either not reached them or was mild enough to overlook while coming to terms with this crisis.

“We didn’t,” one guard denied.

“Shut up, Mulciber. We need to think,” said Wiblin harshly.

“We have to call the ministry,” the third guard said. “We can’t hide _this_.”

The sound of the hallway door opening again interrupted whatever Wiblin was going to say in response. Heavy footfalls moved towards the little gathering. Harry wasn’t surprised to see it was yet another guard.

“What the fuck happened?” the man asked. The other guards shifted uncomfortably before turning one by one to look at Harry. In response, Harry’s breathing once again grew laboured. Wiblin, the man closest to the door, stepped forward.

“Don’t,” Harry warned. He clutched his sheets at the uncomfortable feeling of having four guards watch him. Despite his growing panic, Harry felt his magic responding. It lingered just under his skin, waiting for Harry to let it loose. It brought Harry some comfort to know he could defend himself again if need be. Perhaps this time without eating any more souls. He couldn’t imagine trying to take another one with Burke taking up so much space already. He was reasonably certain that even the dementors only ate one soul at a time.

“We need to know what happened,” said Wiblin, though he wisely did not move any closer. Harry really didn’t know what to say. The ministry had locked him away for casting crucio for one whole second. He didn’t want to know what their punishment would be for stealing someone’s _soul_.

“I’ll tell you,” Lucius suddenly interjected. Harry was surprised at how much it hurt his heart to think that Lucius was about to sign his death warrant.

“Go on,” the last guard urged impatiently.

“I awoke to the sounds of a struggle. When I sat up, I saw Burke attempting to- well, we’ve already established the vile act that bastard intended,” Lucius said judgmentally.

“Intended? Did he not...”

“Potter fought him off initially. It seemed... I thought Harry would not be able hold him off any longer, but then the dementor arrived,” Lucius briefly paused, and Harry tensed waiting for the truth to come out. “The dementor might have assumed Burke was trying to escape with the boy,” Lucius suggested. Attempted escapes were usually the only time the dementors could kiss someone without ministry approval.

Harry let out a relieved breath and several tears flowed. The guards that noticed assumed he was reliving the memory. In truth, Harry was touched that Lucius was trying to protect him despite what he’d just done.

“How the fuck were they supposed to escape if Potter was naked?” the last guard stated, pointing out the obvious flaw in Lucius’ story.

“Well you can hardly escape in an Azkaban uniform,” Lucius snipped back. “You could always ask the dementor to explain itself,” he suggested knowing that the guards could not speak to them like Harry could.

“Does it really matter why?” asked another guard. “Let’s just be thankful it didn’t kiss Potter as well. Scrimgeour would really have our asses.”

Harry was astonished by the fact that the guards were buying the story. They had no reason to assume differently since no wizard had taken a soul like a dementor could before. There was no reason for any of the guards to assume Harry was the culprit. And yet, his fear was insisting that it must be obvious. Harry was clearly not behaving normally. How could he when he felt Burke’s soul with every inch of his body? Harry found it hard to believe that there was no outward sign of his internal struggle.

“What are we going to do? There is no way we can cover this up,” said a guard. There was a short discussion amongst the guards about what their options were until one of them remembered where they were and who their audience was. “We should take this conversation to the main office,” he said.

“Right,” Wiblin nodded and once again stepped closer to Harry. Harry immediately repeated his harsh “don’t”, which fortunately made Wiblin pause.

“Potter, we need to remove the body,” Wiblin stumbled a little at the word ‘body’. The prisoners all realized he was probably the only one mourning the loss of Burke.

“Not you,” Harry said and cringed when he noted his voice kind of sounded like a dementor’s. There was a raspy, rattling quality to it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Wiblin seemed offended that Harry assumed he would go to such an extreme. Harry let out a harsh sound that could only loosely be called a laugh. One of his hands unclenched from the sheets and covered the area where the tattoo Burke and Wiblin had force upon him was. It served to remind Wiblin that Harry had no reason to trust the man. The closer Wiblin tried to get, the more Harry became aware of his magic ready to rise to his defense. As much as Harry wanted to lash out at the man, he knew it wasn’t the smartest move. His inner Hermione was urging him to hold back on those impulses. So far it seemed like he was getting away with what he did to Burke, but if he cursed the guards then he’d be in trouble once again.

Fortunately for everyone, Wiblin did not press the issue. He stepped back into the hallway and allowed the other guards to enter the cell without him. Harry did not feel comfortable with them either so he backed up on his cot as much as he could. The movement reminded him that his lower half was naked under the sheet.

There was a short argument over which one of the men would be stuck pulling up Burke’s pants. When one guard reluctantly agreed to do it and turned Burke over, Burke’s cock was put on display for everyone to see. Harry had to look away. His eyes landed on Burke’s forgotten wand. That inner Hermione was urging him to leave it be, while his inner Ron suggested he ought to hide the wand before the guards noticed it. His magic still felt easily accessible, so he decided to chance it. Once his brain felt the danger had passed, it was likely he wouldn’t be able to purposely access his magic wandlessly. Having a wand would protect him in case one of the guards decided to finish what Burke started.

There weren’t many places to hide a wand in the barren cell. If he pushed it towards the toilet bowl, it would be further from the guards. Regrettably, Harry wasn’t sure if the shadows were deep enough to camouflage the wand. Summoning the wand to rest under his bed was risky, but it also was the closest hiding spot and time was of the essence. It seemed impossible to hide the wand quickly but stealthily. Harry urged his magic to gently pull the wand towards him at a reasonably slow pace. Luckily the wand moved soundlessly. In turn, Harry made more of an effort to regulate his own heavy breathing. Despite his efforts not to draw attention to himself, he was only able to move the wand a foot before one of the guards noticed the minute movement out of the corner of his eye. Harry held his breath as the man picked up the wand. Harry shakily let it out once he realized that the man didn’t even look at Harry with suspicion. The movement had been so slow that while it caught the guard’s attention, the man had not consciously realized it had been moving.

“Martin, bring Burke to... might as well be the office. Not like there is a good place to store him,” the last guard that arrived ordered once Burke’s clothes were back in order. The guard nodded and levitated the body out of the cell. Harry was happy to see them go.

“Luis, go find Dennis and make sure all the dementors are accounted for. Might as well give him an update about what happened here,” the other guard nodded and left. Harry was a little less happy to see him go if only because he was taking Burke’s wand with him.

“Potter,” the guard paused as he placed Harry’s trousers and pants on the bed. As much as Harry desperately wanted to be fully clothed, he didn’t dare let go of the sheet while the guards were still there. The man seemed equally uncomfortable. “Did Maxim... had he managed... shit, did Burke penetrate you?” the man eventually managed to ask.

“No, I-” Harry cringed and looked away from the guard in case his guilt was plainly written on his face. “No.”

“Alright, good,” the man seemed relieved and started backing away from Harry. “Alright...”

There was an awkward pause as both Wiblin and the remaining guard watched Harry from the door to his cell. Clearing his throat, the guard finally decided to close the cell. Harry jumped at the sound of the lock.

“Go back to your post for now,” the guard told Wiblin. “You’ll have to make a statement, but for now...” the man gave a tired sigh. After one last glance at Harry, the man walked away. Wiblin dutifully followed.

Harry didn’t know why he started trembling _after_ the guards were gone. He felt like he should relax, but couldn’t because the feeling of Burke’s soul was still present. Without the distraction, that too-much feeling returned.

“Harry,” Lucius said cautiously. Harry looked in his direction even though his vision was blurred by tears and a lack of glasses. “Are you-” the man had wanted to ask if Harry was alright, but cut himself off as it was obvious that the boy wasn’t okay.

“Did that scumbag really not put his cock in you?” Mulciber asked angrily. He realized how harsh he sounded and tried to tone it down for Harry. “If he hurt you, er ripped you then we will demand those fucking guards heal you.”

“No, I’m ok. I mean, I stopped him before he could-” Harry realized that he had not stopped the man before he could inflict some damage, but he still felt like he should reassure Mulciber. “I’m not bleeding or anything.”

Harry paused as the truth of that sunk in. He wasn’t bleeding. In fact, aside from the overwhelming feeling of having an extra soul taking up residence in him, he felt fine. Harry brought his hand to where Burke had bit him, but when he pressed down, there was no pain. He also felt smooth skin when he ran his tongue along his lips.

“You stopped him?” Crabbe’s confused voice prevented Harry from wondering how he felt physically fine. Harry didn’t know what to say. The last thing he wanted was for these men to fear him or be disgusted by what he did.

“Did you really manage to remove Burke’s soul by yourself?” Lucius asked. His voice held no condemnation, which gave Harry enough hope to answer truthfully. He was pretty sure Lucius had had a clear view into his cell, but realized the man might not have wanted to watch him get raped and turned away at the most critical moment.

“Yes,” Harry said and got lost in the memory of how it felt. “It was easy. Too easy to just guide someone’s soul out,” Harry said as he remembered the rush he felt as he did it. The memory of coaxing Burke’s soul from his body was tied to an almost euphoric relief that he had stopped the man from hurting him. Harry wasn’t sure he would be able to convince himself that he ought to feel remorse. Harry was confident that if he had to do it again, he would still pull out Burke’s soul to stop him. The only downside was what came after. “I don’t think I should have eaten it though,” Harry admitted.

“Eaten?” questioned Mulciber before laughing. Harry flinched at the sound. He did that a lot lately.

“Shut up,” hissed Lucius. His eyes were on Harry.

“Are you having us on?” asked Crabbe. The man was very confused by the concept. Harry didn’t blame him. It should be impossible.

“No,” Lucius said for Harry. “As incredible as it sounds, Harry kissed Burke the way a dementor would.”

The other prisoners were quiet as they absorbed that information. Harry scrunched his sheets nervously as he waited for their verdict. He wanted to put the rest of his clothes on but was worried that if he moved the too-full feeling would overwhelm him again.

“How?” asked Lestrange. Harry thought he sounded more curious than condemning.

“Asherath showed me how,” Harry said. He thought back on the dementor's (in)actions and wondered if it had been another weird test of theirs. “I think he wanted me to do it. Maybe to see if a human could?”

“But why? They never seemed interested in us as more than a snack,” said Mulciber. Harry didn’t have an answer for him.

“Ugh, what is my life?” Harry moaned. A wave of self-pity engulfed him. “I really don’t think humans were built to hold an extra soul,” he whined. He didn’t know what to do, but it was clear that he couldn’t just let Burke’s soul take up space in his own body.

“How can we help?” asked Crabbe. Immense gratitude chased away his self-pity. He knew he should be troubled by why these men weren’t disturbed by the knowledge that Harry ate someone’s _soul_. It was as if it wasn’t a big deal aside from the novelty of the act. Harry knew he should be repulsed by what it said about them as people. He shouldn’t let their concern and acceptance ease any lingering guilt. Harry knew a good person would be horrified, and yet he could only muster up feelings of happiness that they were willing to help him and had no intentions of squealing to the guards.

“Anyone know soul magic?” asked Lucius.

“Not related to eating souls,” responded Mulciber. He sounded amused.

“I’m not really eating it though,” Harry did his best to explain based on the knowledge Asherath shared with him. “It’s sort of just sitting there. Dementors just automatically digest souls like we would a chicken. They don’t think about it any more than we would. Their bodies just do it. I don’t know how to make my body actually eat a soul.” Harry would rather not eat someone’s soul, but the too-full feeling was borderline unbearable.

“I’m not sure you’d want to try,” Lucius said. He elaborated when Harry looked confused, “not unless you were sure you wouldn’t also consume your own soul at the same time.” Harry had not thought of that possibility. He wondered if he’d end up an empty husk or if he’d end up as some dementor hybrid cursed to feed only on souls.

“But I can’t just leave it,” Harry said miserably, “it hurts.” It was more of an excessively uncomfortable feeling than true pain. All the same, Harry felt like it would drive him mental if he had to live like this forever.

The others tried to brainstorm options, but none had suggestions that were feasible and many were deemed too risky. Harry couldn’t vomit the soul. It was probably dangerous to try to coax the soul out as they couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t coax Harry’s soul instead/as well. The prisoners found themselves restricted as they couldn’t access their libraries and do some research. In the end, Harry resolved to ask Asherath if the guards let him return when they believed he was the one that ate their co-worker.

When Harry saw Lucius and Albert yawn for the umpteenth time, he suggested they call it a night. He selfishly wanted them to stay up and distract him from everything that had happened. Harry did not feel tired and couldn’t imagine how he’d fall asleep in the same spot Burke had attacked him in. However, these men had been generous enough with him. It was odd but Harry felt more guilty for keeping them up late than he did for eating Burke’s soul in the first place.

“I’ll be ok,” Harry insisted when both Lucius and Albert looked reluctant. To prove his point, Harry decided to finally put on his clothes. He didn’t want to move, especially if it would expose him again. To his surprise, he only had to look at his trousers while wishing to remain stationary, and they flew at him as if summoned. In shock, Harry let go of his sheets to grab the clothes as they hit him in the chest.

“That... was both wandless and silent casting,” Lucius observed in wonder.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry looked down at the clothes in shock.

“Impressive,” muttered Lestrange. Harry was thinking of it as scary since it was unintentional.

“I think I might have unintentionally healed myself too,” Harry admitted. His cheek didn’t hurt where Burke had slapped him multiple times. His neck didn't feel sore even though Burke had strangled him. When Harry finally moved to put on his pants, he didn’t see any marks on his lower body even though Burke had gripped him hard enough to bruise.

“Can you heal Albert?” asked Crabbe. Harry felt guilty for not thinking of it immediately.

“I can try,” he said. Harry needed to see the man in order to properly heal him. Harry only had to think about summoning his glasses before they were sailing towards him. Harry’s quidditch reflexes helped him catch them before they could smack him in the face.

Harry stood on shaky legs and moved closer to the cell door. He still couldn’t see the man well enough to spot all of his injuries. Harry merely had to wish that Albert’s cell was better illuminated before a blindingly bright light filled the entire cell.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said as all nearby prisoners groaned at the brightness. He quickly dimmed the light to a more suitable level.

Harry started with the injuries on Albert’s face. Most of those were healed by the basic healing spells he’d learn in charms. It still baffled him that many of the guards had been unable to master these spells. There were a few deeper gashes, but a mental episkey healed those up.

“Wait,” Lucius said after a few moments. “Do you think you could cast some illusions to make it appear as if he is still injured?”

“Those would be hard to maintain under the circumstances,” Albert pointed out. Harry felt willing to try as it occurred to him that they would have a hard time explaining Albert’s sudden lack of injuries to the guards.

“If Harry can’t hold them and a guard remarks on your recovery, we can say that another guard healed you to avoid additional problems from the ministry. It should be believable given recent events,” Lucius proposed. “Though we shouldn’t draw attention to it if we don’t have to, thus the illusions.”

“If all else fails, Harry can cast simple confundus charm whenever a guard becomes suspicious,” suggested Lestrange.

Harry worked to cast an illusion over Albert’s face that matched his previous injuries. Crabbe helped him remember which injuries went where. As Harry healed the man's other injuries, he placed the illusion on right away to ensure it matched. By the time Harry was done healing everything, Albert was breathing much easier. Surprisingly, so was Harry. He still felt uncomfortable and gross overall, but casting so many spells had helped ease those sensations so they weren’t overwhelming.

“Thank you, Harry,” Albert said with sincerity. Harry nodded and slowly dimmed the light in Albert’s cell so everyone wouldn’t get another shock.

“You should create illusions for your own injuries,” suggested Lucius. Maintaining that many illusions on both of them would normally strain a wizard’s magic. For once, Harry though that might be a good thing if it helped lessen the negative feelings that having Burke’s soul in him caused.

Harry cast a low-level light spell in his own cell. He then transfigured a portion of his wall to be reflective so he could see the areas that required an illusion. Thanks to a childhood spent with Dudley, Harry knew exactly what he looked like with a black eye, so he gave himself the appearance of one now. The other injuries were harder because they required Harry to think back on his assault and remember exactly what Burke had done to him. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Ever.

Fighting back tears, Harry slowly made his way down his body leaving the appearance of hand shaped bruises and a few scratches. The deep bite mark looked particularly harsh. Harry didn’t know when he had healed himself, so he wasn’t sure if his illusions matched up to what the guards saw. He’d just hope that they hadn’t looked at him too closely.

“Extraordinary,” Lucius said as he admired Harry’s spell work. Harry shrugged in reply. Since the illusions were meant to mimic his assault, Harry wasn’t inclined to like them even if it boggled his mind that the magic flowed so easily from him.

“You should get some sleep,” suggested Albert. Harry didn’t think he could sleep, but nodded at Albert’s suggestion all the same. He knew they were tired, but got the impression that they would stay up with him if Harry refused to sleep. Harry extinguished the conjured light, returned his wall to its original state, and reluctantly made his was to bed. It was hard to lay down in the same spot Burke had pinned him to only a few hours ago.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” asked Crabbe softly.

“I don’t know,” responded Harry. He was pretty sure the answer was no but didn’t want to talk about it.

“Wake us up if you need to,” offered Crabbe.

“OK,” said Harry even though he had no intention of doing so.

Harry laid still, staring at the ceiling, and desperately trying to think about anything but recent events. When he was reasonably sure that Albert and Lucius were asleep, he quietly got out of bed and sat in the middle of his cell. Silently he levitated a nearby pebble. Likely it was a chipped piece of Azkaban’s crumbling walls.

Harry felt minimally better when casting spells, so he decided to spend the rest of the night distracting himself in this manner. Slowly he added more and more pebbles until he had about a dozen hovering in front of him at eye-level. He set them to move around his head in a wide circle. When he grew bored of this, he alternated moving them up and down. It reminded him of a muggle merry-go-round.

Throughout the night, Harry added more and more stones. Eventually there weren’t any left in his cell, so he summoned a few from the hallway and Lucius and Albert’s cells. No matter how many he added, they all moved as effortlessly as the first one had. When the early morning light woke Lucius, he sat up to the sight of a veritable wall of rocks orbiting the boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to humanize Burke by giving him a first name, but it seemed odd that all his coworkers kept referring to him as Burke. I don't know about you, but most people refer to me by my first name. So, I settled on Maxim Burke because it sounded like 'maximum berk' (sorry if anyone reading this is actually named Maxim Burke!). As in true J.K fashion where names have meaning, his name would mean "the greatest fortification". In a way it works as he serves to build up Harry's defenses against an attack... and I think this subconsciously led me to have Harry build a literal wall around him at the end of this chapter.


End file.
